


Miseria Canta (Misery Sings)

by notinmyvocab



Series: Misery [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Coven, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Gen, No Incest, also some horror, family themes, mentions of coven, no harmons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-14 08:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 26,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16036949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notinmyvocab/pseuds/notinmyvocab
Summary: In 1994, Constance gave up her fourth child after Tate's death. In 2011, Derek Noble– a famous crime novelist –moves into the Murder House with his daughter, Isabel, and a past that Isabel never knew she had is unearthed.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick little intro before we begin: I will point this out now (and will again later on in the story) that Constance is clairvoyant. I firmly believe this is canon for she seemed to appear at just the right time and knew things immediately that someone couldn't possibly just know right off the bat (like being able to tell that Vivien was pregnant even though she wasn't showing at all). She also mentioned in the last episode that she was cousins with the Delongpres. Mimi Delongpre was once the Supreme of the coven.

_1994_

This wasn't supposed to happen. Nothing was supposed to go wrong. She was back in this house with her children and even though she was stuck with a man she did not love, Constance had been sure to make everything in her life was perfect again.

But fate had a different plan in mind and decided to play this cruel joke on her.

She could hear the sound of a woman crying and screaming. It took Constance a moment to realize that it was she who was the one screaming.

The SWAT team had barged into her house and marched into her son's bedroom. She tried following, pleading with them that he was just a boy and to leave him alone, tears of frustration beginning to build up and blur her vision.

"Tate!" she sobbed out and then she heard it: the sound of guns being fired. The mother felt herself fall back against a door of one of the many rooms in the house and she slowly sank to the floor, her tears finally spilling over and streaming down her face. Her perfect little boy was dead. They had killed the boy that was supposed to be her darling angel.

The world became silent. The men who had shot her child were talking but Constance tuned them out. She tuned everything out, willing herself to wake up from this god awful nightmare. There was no way this could be real. There was no way that Hell on Earth could be real. Yet here it was, right before her very eyes.

Constance brought a hand to her abdomen and her other hand to her mouth to muffle the sound of her sobs. Her throat was already sore from crying and screaming, the tears were unceasing, and all she could think about was that Tate was gone.

The woman looked down to the hand that rested on her stomach despite being unable to see clearly because of her blurred vision and she could not help but sneer in disgust at the very thought of this thing growing inside of her. She would bring into the world. But she would not raise it. She was done living in anguish because of her children: there was Beau who had been a suffering monster, Addie, who was far from pretty and smart and gave Constance such grief over trivial things, and now there was Tate who got himself killed.

Though they had all been children of hers and her deceased, cheating husband, Hugo, and this child was Larry's, Constance was not taking any chances. Besides, she never loved Larry. This child would become someone else's problem.

Constance was done.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Huber" isn't actually Marcy's last name, I just took it from her character in Desperate Housewives.

_2011_

Marcy Huber grinned, pleased with how the house was looking. Not a speck of dust was in sight. The place had been cleaned from top to bottom. It was such a shame, really. It was such a nice house with its six bedrooms, five bathrooms. If only no one had died here at 1120 Westchester Place; the house would sell within minutes. Alas, that wasn't the case. There had indeed been many deaths in this house, which kept buyers at bay.

But finally, Marcy had an appointment with a family that seemed interested enough to at least look at the house. And not just any family, but Derek Noble, the famous crime novelist and his daughter, Isabel. Surely it couldn't be all that hard to sell the Murder House to a crime novelist. And if Marcy did manage to make a deal, it would be the deal of the century.

At exactly three o'clock, the time of the appointment, there was a knock on the door. Marcy put on her best smile as she smoothed out her blazer. When she opened the door, she greeted the Nobles. "Hi, welcome," she said cheerfully. "Come on in." She stepped aside to let the pair in.

"Thanks for seeing us, Miss Huber," said Derek with his usual charming smile. In the eyes of many women, he looked like a dream with his bright teeth, constant five o'clock shadow and brown hair that always looked windswept because of his habit of running a hand through it.

"Please, call me Marcy," the realtor replied. She was intent on making this sale. If she closed this deal she would no longer be a joke among the others. Marcy smiled at Isobel as well and the sixteen-year-old smiled back but it was small and returned only out of politeness.

She led the pair through the foyer, down the hall, towards the kitchen. "The house has a lot of the original details, like these Tiffany fixtures," Marcy remarked. "Except for the kitchen, which has been modernized."

As Marcy said this, they entered the kitchen. It contrasted greatly with the rest of the Victorian styled home. And Derek seemed very interested. But not because of the design of the kitchen.

"The last people who lived here were the ones who redid the kitchen, weren't they?"

"Nothing gets past you, Mr. Noble," said Marcy with a chuckle.

Isabel wanted to roll her eyes. She knew what this realtor was doing: sucking up to the famous author. It was something that Isabel was used to witnessing but not something she liked seeing.

"Yes, the last couple redid the kitchen. It was the one room they wanted to update while keeping everything else original," Marcy continued. Derek looked around the kitchen, taking in every little detail. "You know, your last book about the Osage Indian murders was absolutely fascinating. I can only assume that you want to move into this house to write a book on the deaths that took place here."

Derek was not surprised to hear this. "Nothing gets past you, Marcy," he replied with a half grin, echoing her words from just moments before. "So how many deaths happened here? Obviously more than the two from last year, otherwise this place wouldn't be worthy of the Eternal Darkness Tour."

As the two adults continued talking, Isabel wandered off. It was a nice sized house. But she knew that none of that mattered. This wasn't about whether or not it was a good home. Isabel knew that her father would buy this house even if it was in shambles.

It was one of his writing methods. If he was going to write a book about a crime, he wanted to be as close to where the crime took place as possible. And they couldn't get any closer than living in the house where such crimes took place.

Isabel went upstairs, surprised that the steps didn't creak. Good structure, she thought to herself.

The upstairs was a rather boring, she would admit. A master bedroom, a few other bedrooms; everything she would expect in such a big house. She came to the end of the hall and looked up, seeing the cutout in the ceiling that would lead into the attic. Isabel did feel an urge to pull down the stairs and go up to investigate. But there would be time for that later.

"Iz, come on down!" Derek called to his daughter. The sixteen-year-old brunette went back down the stairs and as she descended the steps, she couldn't help but feel like she was being watched. She walked back into the kitchen and saw her father beaming. "What do you think?"

It didn't matter what she thought. They were moving in here anyway. Still, Isabel gave an approving grin. "It's perfect."

""''""""""""""'""""

A few days later, Adelaide was staring out of her bedroom window. She focused intently on the house next door, the one where she had lived once. So many had moved in since the house had first been built and so many of them had died. The house had to be getting quite full of residents. And she was sure that whoever was moving in now was going to meet the same fate as many did who lived in that house.

The family had arrived (a small one; only a father and daughter from the looks of it) and the movers had come to bring over and set up the furniture. When the movers had finally gone, Adelaide felt herself become restless. She wanted to see Tate and she wanted to meet the new neighbors. They had to know that they were probably going to die in that house.

Pretty much everyone did.

"''"""""''"""""''"""'

When the movers had gone, Derek had gone into library that he was turning into his workspace. Everything had to be absolutely perfect for his writing process to go accordingly. This left Isabel by herself to unpack some of the boxes in the kitchen; things like silverware and plates. Boring stuff.

From the corner of the kitchen, Moira watched Isabel, invisible to the girl for now. When Chad and Patrick had owned and lived in the house, she had not made herself known to them. It had been dreadfully boring, being unable to do anything while they had been alive. But now here was a family she could present herself to. Here was an opportunity to come out of hiding.

When Isabel finished unpacking the boxes in the kitchen, she headed towards the living room where there were even more boxes. As she rounded the corner though, she nearly collided with none other than Adelaide.

"You're going to die in this house," Addie warned her. It sounded more like threat than anything.

Isabel was stunned and confused, and could only gape at Addie, unsure of how to react. She nearly called out for her father when another stranger appeared.

"Now Adelaide, what have I told you?" Constance scolded as she walked up to her daughter. "You'd think God had made you deaf from the way you don't listen to me. Now go on home."

Addie gave Isabel one last look that came off as almost a glare before walking through the door in the kitchen that led to the backyard, on her way back home. She had just tried warning the new neighbor that she was in danger but her mother was getting in the way, just as always.

Constance waited until Adelaide was out of sight before turning her attention back to Isabel and giving her a smile that was not exactly friendly. "I'll have to apologize for her. No matter how hard I try, Addie always finds a way in this place. That girl just has a bug up her ass about this house."

There was a beat of silence as Isabel tried to just take in what the hell just happened. And now this woman was speaking to her about that Addie girl without even introducing herself. "Sorry but, who are you?"

The older woman gave a lighthearted laugh. "Silly of me to not say: I'm Constance. I live next door."

Well, that certainly did help Isabel feel a little better about the strangers in her new house. At least they were neighbors. "Oh, nice to meet you. I'm Is―"

"Again, sorry about Addie," Constance interrupted. "I really should be going though. Lord knows what trouble that girl will get into if I don't watch her." She gave another smile that did not reach her eyes. And then it faded as she met Isabel's gaze. "What did you say your name was?"

"Isabel," she answered. "Isabel Noble."


	3. Chapter Two

A few weeks later, the house was all set up. Furniture was in, walls were painted, and Derek's office was already littered with papers. It had become home, at least until they moved away.

Isabel would admit, while the house was a tad creepy, it was a lot better than the small crummy apartment they had rented in Massachusetts when Derek had been working on his book about Briarcliff Manor that was scheduled to come out in two months.

It was the first day of school for Isabel at Westfield High. She just hoped that she would be able to finish her senior year in the same school instead of moving halfway through the year and having to start over again. That was always a pain. Though there had been so many crimes committed in the Murder House, it would probably take Derek two years to write a whole book on it. Which was fine with Isabel.

First class of the day was English, which Isabel dreaded. She hated the class because everyone assumed her to be amazing at it since she was a Noble.

The teacher began attendance, starting with the last names that began with A and going down the alphabet. Isabel could always tell when an English teacher reached her name because they all had the same reaction: furrowed brow and slightly squinted eyes as if they were making sure it wasn't their mind playing a trick on them.

"Isabel Noble?"

"Here," Isabel responded as she always had during attendance.

"Is your father Derek Noble?"

And so it began.

""''""""'"""'"""'""'

Back at the house, Derek was typing away on his laptop, doing his research on the house. He began with the Montgomerys, Charles and Nora. They were the first owners of the house. As he started learning about the mad doctor and his wife, he was totally unaware of what was going on in his living room.

Chad stood in the living room, sneering in disgust. "These people have awful taste in décor," he remarked and Patrick rolled his eyes.

"Oh will you stop being critical for two seconds?" Patrick sounded absolutely exasperated and he was. Putting up with Chad was so tiring, especially when he would go on and on about style and other people's lack thereof.

"The two of you need to stop it," Moira said firmly as entered the living room. "Just because the both of you are miserable does not mean the rest of us have to suffer." Sometimes she really wished that they hadn't died in this house.

The maid smoothed out the skirt of her uniform and walked towards the kitchen where she vanished. She would do this as if she was still alive: knock on the door and hope for the best. Moira would make sure that she didn't do anything to arouse suspicion. She didn't want to have to be invisible for however long the family would be living there. She had done that when Constance had moved back in with Larry Harvey and it had been so dreadfully dull to stay out of sight and do nothing for so long.

There were some concerns of course. Derek was researching everything that happened in this house. Surely he would come across articles about her and Hugo Langdon going missing. But she would cross that bridge when she got there. For now, there was time.

Moira knocked on the front door, disrupting Derek from his work. He closed his laptop and went to the foyer. He opened the door and raised his eyebrows at the sight of an older woman with red hair.

"Can I help you?" he asked the woman.

She gave a kind smile. "My name's Moira O'Hara."

"''""""'"""""'"""

School had been absolute hell. At the end of every single class, Isabel had been pulled aside by the teacher and asked about her father; when his next book was coming out, what he was working on now, et cetera.

But it was finally over and she could go home. As Isabel headed out to the school parking lot, she heard someone behind call out, "Hey you!"

Isabel turned and saw a girl that she somewhat recognized from her math class. What was her name again? Lola, Lela… Leah that was it! Leah and her clique approached Isabel. "You're the Noble chick, right?"

Clearly a little tired from hearing that question, Isabel nodded.

Leah seemed satisfied by this answer. "Cool… tomorrow you're going to sit with us at lunch."

And with that, she just walked away, her lackeys following. Isabel was caught off guard by the command, but she supposed she had no reason to decline.

Adjusting the position of her backpack strap that was slung over her shoulder, she continued on her way.

""''"""""""'""""""

Isabel pulled her car into the driveway. It hadn't taken much convincing for Derek to get her a car for her sixteenth birthday. The Nobles could certainly afford it and it was nice for Isabel to have a way of getting around while her dad took his car when he went for a book signing.

Speaking of a book signing…

When Isabel entered the house, she saw two suitcases by the door. Derek came out from the kitchen with a travel mug filled with hot coffee in his hand.

"Hey Iz," he greeted his daughter with a smile and a kiss on the head. "I'm sorry to do this to you but Nancy called and–"

"And you've got a book signing," Isabel finished for him. That was always the statement that followed "Nancy called," Nancy being Derek's agent.

Derek's smile weakened a little and he comfortingly squeezed his daughter's shoulder. "I'm sorry Iz. But it's just in San Francisco; I'll be gone a week at the most. And there's someone I want you to meet. Moira, can you come out here please?"

Moira left the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She had been surprised to find out earlier that Derek did not view her as the young and sexy woman she once had been. He saw her true self: an old soul. And honestly, Moira had no complaints about that. It was nice for a man to view her as a person instead of a sex toy.

"Moira, this is my daughter, Isabel," Derek introduced the two.

"It's nice to meet you," said the maid with a warm, motherly smile.

Derek continued, "Moira O'Hara's gonna work for us while we're living here. I know you two will get along great." He paused a moment to check his watch. "I have to go." He once again kissed Isabel's head. "I'll see you in a week."

He picked up his suitcases, one filled with clothes and the other with an infinite amount of pens and papers so that he could write when he wasn't busy doing anything else. He was out the door, leaving Moira and Isabel alone together.

There was an awkward silence, which Moira expected. "Would you like some coffee, Miss Noble?"

"Actually, can I have tea please? And you can call me Isabel, Ms. O'Hara."

Moira gave Isabel another warm smile, having a good feeling that she and this girl would get along. "As long as you call me Moira."


	4. Chapter Three

Later that same day, after dinner, Moira had gone home. Isabel would admit, it was a little weird to have a total stranger look after the house and cook for her. But Isabel did indeed appreciate it. And the two had come up with a deal: Moira could do the cooking as long as she left the baking to Isabel.

Baking was what Isabel absolutely loved. Though she was good at English (solely because she was surrounded by books and lived with a writer) Home Ec. was her forte. She just loved being able to mix together certain things to create something entirely new that also tasted delicious. And baking was a great comfort to her.

Isabel's clothes were covered in a light dusting of flour. Her long mousy brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail. As she put the tray of cookie dough into the oven, Fall Out Boy blasted throughout the house (she had hooked up her iPod to the stereo system to listen to music while she made the homemade cookie dough).

And then suddenly, there was silence.

Frowning, Isabel closed the oven door and walked out to the living room, wiping her hands on her jeans. Had her iPod died?

Walking in, she saw a tall blond haired boy messing with the device. Isabel froze and tensed, fear shooting through her. Of course, the natural reaction to an intruder was to be scared.

Noticing that he was no longer alone, Tate looked up from the iPod and met Isabel's eyes. "You have terrible taste in music," he said. "No Nirvana, no Pearl Jam… who the hell is Panic at the Disco?"

Isabel didn't say anything; couldn't say anything. She was still in shock. This kid had broken into her house and was looking through her iPod, commenting on her music taste. Was he here to rob her or edit her playlist?

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, finally finding her voice.

The blond smirked, setting down the iPod. "I'm Tate. I live in the neighborhood," he introduced himself. Technically, this was not a lie. He did live in the neighborhood. In the same house as Isabel. But she didn't need to know that. "Thought I'd stop by and welcome you."

At this, Isabel relaxed. Okay, so at least he wasn't here to kill her or something like that. "Thanks, but next time, knock, 'kay?"

Tate seemed to be hardly listening to her though. "Do you at least have Alice in Chains?"

"No… but I got some Elsa Mars records upstairs." Elsa Mars was one of Isabel's favorite artists and for her fourteenth birthday, Derek had gotten her all of Elsa's original records and a record player for her to play them on.

Tate, however, did not seem interested. "What kind of cookies are you making?" he asked, changing the subject. He brushed past Isabel and went into the kitchen. On the counter was the bowl where the cookie dough had been mixed in. "Chocolate chip, sweet; my favorite," he remarked before taking his finger and swiping the inside of the bowl to get a small bite of the cookie dough that remained.

Isabel rolled her eyes and snatched away the bowl before Tate could take another finger of the dough, putting it in the sink and filling it with water.

"So Noble kid, what's your first name?" Tate asked, leaning against the counter. He flicked his head to the side to get his blond hair out of his eyes.

"Isabel," she replied. "Dad named me after Isabel Allende, the author."

"Lemme guess: 'cause your dad's a writer too?" Isabel nodded. "And what about your mom?" Tate hadn't seen any sign of Isabel's mother. Derek wore no wedding ring nor did he have a tan line where a ring would be, something Tate had noticed when he had watched Derek pouring over his laptop earlier.

There was a pause as Isabel hesitated to answer. It wasn't really something she talked about before as there had never been a reason to. Everyone who ever read one of her dad's novels knew that he had never married; it said so in the author bio on the inside covers of his books where it also said that she was his adopted daughter. Hardly anything was a secret when it came to the Noble family.

"Don't have one. Well, I mean I do. But I never met her. She put me up for adoption," Isabel answered quietly.

It had never been a secret to Isabel that she was adopted. Derek was always forward with her about everything. But it wasn't a subject that Isabel had asked him about. She never wondered who her birth mother had been or who her birth father had been. But admitting out loud that she had been given up by someone was a little hard for Isabel.

An awkward silence followed and for a moment, Tate regretted asking. That was a question that could have been answered without him asking if he bothered to pick up on of Derek's books. There were numerous copies of every novel he had ever written littering his office.

Tate changed the subject. "So how much longer until those cookies are done?"

"""'""""''"""'

Isabel was getting ready for bed. Tate had left an hour before and it was now really late at night. Her record player was on her dresser, one of Elsa Mars' hits spinning around and around. Isabel hummed along as she brushed her long brown hair that reached a few inches past her shoulders.

After setting down her hairbrush, she put in her retainer. She shut off the record player and wandered to her bed. The house was creepy at night by herself. And tomorrow was yet another day of school.

She had hoped to see Tate at school but he told her that he didn't go to Westfield. That was disappointing to hear; it would have been nice to know one person who was at least an acquaintance. Then again, there were those other girls who wanted her to sit with them at lunch.

So maybe school wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe.

When Isabel had fallen asleep, strange dreams took over. In her mind she could see images of flames and ashes falling. There was the faint sound of children laughing, but it was muffled as if they were swallowing the ashes that fell.

And then suddenly, Isabel was standing in front of the gas stove that had been turned on. Her hand was hovering over the blue flames.

"I need you to feel what I felt; to suffer like me," an unfamiliar voice whispered to Isabel. And then she began to lower her hand, nearly touching the fire that was heating up her palm.

She was disrupted by a gentle hand on her cheek. Turning, Isabel met the eyes of none other than Constance. The older woman lovingly caressed the girl's face. "It's not your time," she murmured softly in a motherly tone. "Enjoy the house."

Isabel's brow furrowed in confusion. "Am I dreaming?" she asked.

And then she collapsed.


	5. Chapter Four

The days continued on with nothing abnormal happening. Friday came, the day that Derek was supposed to be returning from his quick trip to San Francisco. While Isabel was at school, Moira worked on cleaning the house to make it spotless for Mr. Noble's return. She had gotten permission from Isabel to clean her room and was currently making the bed.

"You missed a spot," Constance remarked snidely as she walked into the bedroom and ran her finger along the windowsill and then rubbed off the dust that collected on her fingertip. "I see your dusting has not improved."

So this was Isabel's bedroom; Tate's room when he had been alive. The dark green walls were now a lovely shade of lilac, making the room seem warmer and more inviting. It was pleasing and heartbreaking. Obviously Isabel had grown up leading a good life. Yet, she could have been Constance's perfect angel if she hadn't given her up; a decision she regretted now seeing the girl her daughter grew up to be.

Moira continued with making the bed, determined to not let Constance get under her skin. "I haven't gotten to dusting yet. Not that it's any of your business. You shouldn't be in here."

Hardly paying attention to those words, Constance wandered over to the jewelry box that belonged to Isabel that had been left open and held up a necklace by the chain.

"And you shouldn't touch that," Moira snapped, seeing Constance with the necklace.

This reaction made Constance smirk. "And why's that? Afraid I might steal it? You're the one who's the thief of biblical proportions." She set the necklace back down. "Besides, I have every right to be in my daughter's room."

Leaving Moira standing by the bed with a look of utter surprise, Constance walked out to go visit Beau in the attic.

"""'"""""'""""''"

"Please don't be mad," Derek began, holding his cellphone to his ear with his shoulder. "But Nancy wants me out in Oregon."

It was still Friday, now in the evening.

He had been hesitant to tell Isabel this but it wasn't like he could have kept it secret. He wasn't supposed to be on a book tour but his agent thought it would be good publicity to do another book signing, this time in Portland. She thought it would also help for his next book to sell when it came out if he talked about it.

There was a worry that a book about Briarcliff Manor wouldn't sell very much, considering that Lana Winters had written the book on Bloody Face and did that documentary about the horrors that went on in the asylum. But Derek had such a way with words that he felt confident he could get people interested in his next book.

"When are you coming back?" There was a hint of disappointment in Isabel's voice. Derek had expected that from his daughter.

"I don't know," Derek admitted. It wasn't something he wanted to tell Isabel. At the same time however, he didn't want to give her a date when he would be back and then not show up.

Isabel sighed and there was a long pause before she spoke again. "Will you at least be back by Halloween?"

Without hesitating, Derek assured Isabel that he would be back by then. No way was he going to be gone for the rest of September and all of October. That would be crazy.

I love yous were exchanged and both hung up.

Taking a deep breath, Derek lay back on the hotel bed. He really needed to be focusing on the book about the Murder House. One book at a time though; first promoting the one about Briarcliff and then he would get working on the one he came to LA for.

"""""''""""""

Isabel set down her cellphone and leaned against the kitchen counter, arms folded across her chest. She should be used to this; it wasn't an uncommon thing for him to do. Yet it never ceased to be annoying and somewhat upsetting.

"Daddy Dearest avoiding you?" Tate teased, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen, seemingly out of nowhere.

Isabel jumped and quickly turned to face Tate. "Christ Tate, I told you to knock before just coming over."

Wearing an entertained grin, Tate walked over to the backdoor and knocked. "There, happy?" He chuckled at Isabel rolling her eyes; she looked far from amused. "That's a hell of a stick up your ass. Seriously, what's wrong?"

People always made too many assumptions. Daddy was a well-known author so life must be fantastic. And life could be fantastic. But because Derek was famous, it didn't mean the Nobles were exempt from unhappiness and unbalance. "Dad has to head out to Oregon for a book promo and doesn't know when he'll be back," Isabel answered. She then smiled weakly at Tate. "It's fine, really. I'm used to it."

The saddest words anyone could say.

Tate opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, there was a knock on the backdoor; a familiar knock. Without waiting for consent to enter, Constance walked into the house and gave Isabel a smile. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Actually, I'm hanging out with…" Isabel turned, but Tate was gone; he was nowhere to be found. She frowned; where the hell did he go?

"With who, dear?" Constance asked, though she didn't need to. No doubt it had been her son. Who else would have vanished at her presence? And she was sure that her son was lonely; here was a girl around his age for companionship.

There was a pause before Isabel replied. Not wanting to seem nuts, she said, "With no one; just me. So what's up?"

Isabel didn't seem to remember what had happened a few nights ago with the stove and the collapsing. Good. "Well, I was just about to bake some cupcakes and Addie wanted to know if you'd like to come over."

Constance hoped that Isabel would accept the offer. And based on the way the girl's face lit up, Constance felt confident that Isabel would indeed say yes.

She did.

""""''''""""""'""""'""

"Thanks for having me over," said Isabel. After she washed and dried her hands, she put her hair up into a ponytail.

It was now dark out. There was no moon but the stars were twinkling brightly. Adelaide was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a magazine.

Constance said, "Oh it's a pleasure. It's nice to have someone help with the baking. You know, I would have Adelaide help but she tends to spit in the cooking."

At this, Isabel raised her eyebrows. She glanced to Adelaide, who looked embarrassed by her mother's words. Based upon such a reaction, Isabel got a feeling that Constance wasn't being exactly truthful about that.

"You seem to have a natural talent," Constance went on to say as she watched the neighbor girl add the ingredients for chocolate cupcakes into the mixing bowl, not looking at the recipe even once.

Isabel gave a small, proud smile. "I love to bake," she remarked. "Always have."

Then, there was the sound of a door opening and closing. Travis had arrived. "Sorry I'm so late, babe," he apologized as he walked into the kitchen. He slid an arm around Constance's waist and kissed her cheek. "There were a lot of people at the audition today." His gaze landed on Isabel. "Who's this?"

"This is the new neighbor's daughter," Constance explained with a fond smile towards Isabel. "Isabel, this is Travis."

Travis's look of confusion disappeared and he gave a friendly grin. "Nice to meet you."

"You too," Isabel replied. "I'd shake your hand but uh, just cracked some eggs." As she spoke, Isabel went over to the sink to wash her hands again to get the raw egg remnants off of her fingers.

Suddenly, Isabel heard glass breaking. It was muffled, a clue that it came from outside. Everyone had exchanged worried glances. It was Isabel who quickly left the kitchen and stepped outside to see what the hell was going on.

When she came back into the kitchen, she was as white as a sheet. Not explaining anything to anyone, she grabbed the phone and punched in three numbers.

"9-1-1 what's your emergency?"

"There's someone breaking into my house!"

"'''""""'''"""''"

Crazy cult followers, ones who came with intent to murder; three people trying to recreate the killings that this one guy committed in the 60s. That's who broke into the Murder House. Despite the ordeal being over, Isabel's heart was still racing. That had been such a close call; too close. To think that if Constance had not invited her over, she would have been in the house… Isabel didn't want to think about any what ifs.

"This is being done all over the country. Absolutely awful. Usually it starts with a person knocking on the door, asking for help. We think that when there was no response, these guys busted a window to get in. I assume your father's out of town, Miss Noble?" the officer asked.

Isabel nodded. "Yeah, he is." The sixteen-year-old was sure that once she called and told Derek about this, then he would come back as fast as he could. But for now, he wasn't around and it would just be her in the house until he got back, which might not be until the morning.

When the officer asked Isabel if she had anywhere else to stay for the night, the girl was surprised when Constance stepped in. "She'll be staying with me," Constance insisted, putting an arm around Isabel's shoulders.

The officer asked Isabel, "And this is okay with you?"

She nodded and that was that.

Constance led Isabel away from the commotion that was starting to die down. "Poor dear, you must be absolutely terrified. It certainly was lucky that you were at my house when it happened."

Isabel looked at Constance and the two met eyes. And for the first time, Isabel realized that she and Constance had eyes that were the exact same shade of brown.

"Yeah, lucky."


	6. Chapter Five

Moira stared at the shattered glass on the floor. Those bastards had gotten away. Thankfully no one but the ghosts had been home; no one had gotten hurt. It was still frustrating, even to Moira who had not been directly affected by the incident, that those who attempted to commit the crime had not been caught.

"Oh dear," said a sad and distant sounding voice from behind Moira. The maid turned to see Nora Montgomery, clutching her handkerchief tightly. "Oh dear," Nora repeated. "Someone's tried to break into my home… does Charles know of this?"

"I'm sure he does." Moira had learned to have patience with Nora. The blonde woman was out of it a lot of the times. More often than not, she would roam the house and complain about how it wasn't the way she liked it, blaming her husband and the decorators he had hired.

It was pathetic really, but no matter what Nora could not be given a wake-up call. The woman absolutely refused to believe she was dead.

"And my baby; is my baby alright?"

Hiding her annoyance, Moira nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Montgomery, your baby is fine."

That little monster would always be fine. Nothing could hurt it. Nothing could kill it.

"""'""""""'""""

It was late and Isabel could not sleep. She sat on the edge of the bed in the guestroom in the Langdon home. Her hands were in her lap and she mindlessly picked at the fingernails.

A duffel bag was in the corner of the room. Before coming over, Isabel had packed things she would need for the night: toothbrush, pajamas (which she now wore), a change of clothes, et cetera. Her reading glasses rested on the bedside table next to her father's first book  _The Matinee Massacre_. The book that started Derek Noble's career.

There was a soft knock on the door and Constance entered carrying two mugs of freshly made hot chocolate. Isabel was surprised that the woman had not gone to sleep seeing as it was nearly three in the morning.

"Still awake." It wasn't a question, it was just Constance making a statement. She sat on the edge of the bed beside Isabel, a floral silk house robe covering her lilac nightgown, and handed Isabel one of the mugs of hot chocolate. "I'd be surprised if you actually managed to sleep after what happened."

Isabel stared into the hot chocolate, clasping the mug with two hands. "They didn't catch them. That scares me," she confessed in quiet voice. "Those creeps are still out there." And who was to say they wouldn't come back to the house and try again to recreate the killing of those medical students?

"You shouldn't let that get the best of you." Constance was sure that her daughter had inherited her strength.

It was not hard for Constance to deduce that Isabel was the child she gave up in 1994. A mother knows her child, even if that child had been given up. Isabel had her eyes.

The one child that grew up right. Isabel had angelic appearances in Constance's opinion and seemed to have no mental issues. The perfect child that Constance had always wanted. Nevertheless she had given the girl up as soon as she was born and all because Constance was afraid of producing yet another failure.

She used to have thoughts of killing Addie; leaving her out in the cold or something of the sort. But she always told herself that a mother did not give up on her children. Yet this one, her fourth child, she had given up on.

There had not been a day when she didn't reflect on that action. Did she regret it? Seeing her daughter now she did. She regretted very much. But there was time now to fix things. There was time to make things the way Constance wanted them.

Constance reached over and took the book off of the bedside table. "This was your father's first book, wasn't it?" She remembered when  _The Matinee Massacre_  first hit the shelves and easily became a best seller.

Isabel nodded, actually happy to talk about the book. It was her least favorite book that her father had written because of what it was about, but talking about it would distract her from what had happened earlier. Constance knew this too and as she opened the book and flipped through the pages, she said, "Tell me about it."

"It's about that freak show murder that happened in early 1953," Isabel began to explain. "The one in Jupiter, Florida. I think it was my dad's favorite book to write because it actually involved our family."

Now that came as a surprise to Constance. "How do you mean?"

"When my dad was doing research for the book, he found out that the killings were done by a guy named Dandy Mott." Who had mysteriously disappeared after murdering all of those freaks; both Isabel and Derek suspected he had died shortly after that fateful day. "The Motts were cousins with the Nobles." However, Dandy had been the remaining Mott and now they were all dead. It had been quite the discovery for Derek and shocked Isabel when she learned this.

"Certainly makes for an interesting family history." Constance set the book back down. Oh how badly she wanted to correct Isabel and tell her that the Noble family history wasn't really hers; that the Langdon history was. But she held back. "Go on, drink up your hot chocolate before it gets cold."

Isabel did as she was told and sipped the warm drink she had been clutching. She pulled the mug away from her lips in surprise. "You put cinnamon in this?"

"I hope you don't mind. Cinnamon in hot chocolate is one of my favorite things." Constance did well to hide her small smile, knowing this would confirm that she and her daughter were more alike than she thought, which was very pleasing to the woman.

"Me too."

"''""""''""""'"""

Derek returned to LA at an ungodly hour. Despite this, he went straight to the neighbor's house and knocked on the door frantically. When Constance opened the door, Derek didn't give her a chance to speak before asking questions.

"What happened, is she okay, did Iz get hurt; was she in the house when it happened?" Derek rapid fired, not giving the woman the opportunity to answer one question before asking the next.

Constance held up a hand to stop Derek from talking. He fell silent, worry in his eyes. "She's fine," Constance assured him. "She's sleeping now. Let her rest; come back in a few hours."

Obediently, Derek nodded. His neighbor's calming tone helped him relax and while his concern didn't go away, he was comforted knowing that Isabel had been taken care of. "Thank you Constance," he said with great sincerity. "Thank you for being there for her."

"Of course, Mr. Noble."

What kind of a mother would she be if she wasn't there for her daughter?


	7. Chapter Six

The event had shaken Isabel up quite a bit. The following few days she had issues sleeping for more than just a few hours at a time. Every noise at night made her jump and her heart pound.

One particular night, there was a thunderstorm raging outside. The boom of the thunder and flash of the lightning kept her awake, eyes fearfully glued to her bedroom door as if she expected it to swing open any second and have those intruders come in and kill her.

Oh this was ridiculous! Her dad was home now; he'd make sure she was safe. And she was sixteen; Isabel wanted to quit being such a baby about this.

Quietly, Isabel got out of bed and crept down the stairs. She went into the kitchen and poured milk into a mug and mixed it with chocolate syrup. After doing so, she stuck the mug into the microwave and as it heated up she got out the cinnamon whipped cream.

She was reminded how Constance had made hot chocolate with cinnamon and said she liked it. Isabel didn't know many people who liked the combination or even tried it. Odd. But oh well.

The microwave beeped and Isabel topped the hot chocolate off with a ton of whipped cream and then a dusting of cinnamon.

Isabel wandered into her father's study and sat down at his desk. It was littered with scrap paper with messy handwriting. There was one single stack of papers that was kept in order. Part of his first draft.

Though Derek always wrote about gruesome things, Isabel found comfort in her father's writing. With a small smile on her face, she began to read with a mug of hot chocolate and the raging storm outside long forgotten.

"""'""""""'""""

Derek spent the next few weeks locked in his study. Isabel didn't mind. This was his normal process. And with the break in that happened, he was more inspired than ever to write this book of his. Moira would come in his office every now and again to dust or give him a fresh cup of coffee. But other than that, Derek shut out the outside world.

Moira was glad that it didn't bother Isabel. She didn't know what would happen if it were up to her to prove comfort for a lonely child. And it was so hard for her to view Isabel as she once had when they first met.

She wasn't just Isabel Noble anymore. She was Constance's daughter. Moira didn't know when Constance was going to tell Isabel this or if she was going to tell Isabel at all. Maybe it was best kept a secret.

Finally Derek had decided to get out of the house. He figured that a change of scenery and fresh air would help the writing process so he left the house just before his daughter returned home from school.

The front door opened and Isabel walked into the house with Leah in tow.

"Holy shit, how can you not get creeped out living in this place?" Leah asked rhetorically, looking around. This place was creepy as hell to her. "It's perfect for the Halloween party you're going to host."

Isabel raised her eyebrows. "Wait, what? When did I agree to that?"

"Just now. Everyone will be expecting you to have a huge party this year anyway," Leah stated matter-of-factly. "Since you have this big house and you're dad's the famous author and whatever."

It wasn't like Isabel didn't know why Leah talked to her. It was only because of her father's career. Everyone wanted to be friends with the author's daughter. Isabel had thought about breaking away from Leah since that wasn't a good reason to be friends. However, with her so-called friendship with Leah, school wasn't as dreadful. Isabel had learned what was wrong and what was right at Westfield.

Leah went on with her plans for Isabel's party. "What kind of music do you have?"

"A mix of things. Panic at the Disco, Elsa Mars–"

"I'm going to stop you right there," Leah interrupted. Dear god, this girl needed a lot of help. "I'll provide the music. You just provide the place and food and don't forget about decorations." Leah checked the time on her phone. "Alright, I better head out. Raquel and I are going costume shopping together. Make sure you look good."

When Leah slipped out the front door, Isabel shook her head. A party didn't sound too bad. It was just a matter of whether or not Derek would agree. He might prefer to have the house silent to do his work.

Isabel trudged down the hall to go to her room. As she got to the stairs, the door that led to the basement slowly creaked open. Frowning in confusion as to why the door opened on its own, Isabel dropped her backpack and went over to it. As she tried to shut the door though, her curiosity was piqued.

The whole time she and Derek had lived there she hadn't been down in the basement. There hadn't been a reason for her to go down there. But why not go down there now and check it out?

The staircase groaned beneath her feet as she descended into the darkness. Isabel had to pause a moment. She hated the dark and this basement was beyond dark. Not knowing why, she pressed onward and reached the bottom of the stairs.

Blindly Isabel reached out to find a light switch or maybe a cord to pull; something that would give her a source of light. As she reached out for the wall, Isabel's foot hit something and she stumbled, falling to her knees on the concrete floor.

"Shit," she mumbled, kneecaps throbbing now.

And in the next moment something happened. Something so fast that she was far from prepared.

Isabel felt a sharp, burning pain in her arm as something bit her, breaking the skin. And whatever was biting her was growling in an inhumane way. Isabel screamed in fright and tried to shake the creature loose from her arm. But whatever it was bit down harder and she felt her warm blood spill.

"Thaddeus, no!"

Isabel felt herself being dragged away.

"Go away Thaddeus!"

A screech followed and then… silence.

Isabel began to whimper in pain. Her arm felt like it was pulsating and she could feel the blood oozing from the fresh wound in her arm. The basement light turned on and Isabel could clearly see what had happened to her.

There was a deep bite mark in her arm that hurt like hell. Tears streamed down her pallid face, the pain enough to almost make her black out. She was down on the ground and someone was cradling her upper body in their lap, though she couldn't see who.

"Shh, it's alright," the stranger said soothingly. Isabel's first thought was that it was Moira. But the voice was too young to be Moira. "It's going to be alright. Take deep breaths."

Nora lifted Isabel's arm to look at what Thaddeus had done. That monster of a child had hurt Isabel very badly. Not enough for stitches, but there was a lot of blood and the pain was surely unbearable. Gently she caressed Isabel's cheek. "You're going to be fine dear. Just take deep breaths."

Isabel frowned at Nora as she tried to figure out who the hell she was. But her mind was distracted by the pain. So many questions were swimming through her mind. What had done this to her? Who was this woman? What the hell was going on?

"It hurts," Isabel complained with every right to do so. The pain was horrific. She wished to be numbed; to be put to sleep for a hundred years. "It hurts a lot." She sounded like a little child who had fallen off of their bike for the first time with how weak her voice was and with her sniffling.

"I know, but you'll be better in the morning. Close your eyes darling and the pain will go away," Nora murmured.

Isabel wanted her father. But he wasn't home. And what was she to tell him when he did come back? He would never believe her if she said a monster. Then again, there was more than enough evidence on her arm.

She felt herself being picked up bridal style.

"Be careful with her," the woman urged whoever was holding Isabel.

"Relax, I was an EMT; I know what I'm doing."

So many strange voices. Isabel closed her eyes and just let things happen, not in any position to fight.

The next thing she knew, she was laying in her bed. Isabel opened her eyes and saw two men in her room, one standing at her bedside (presumably the one who had carried her) and the other was at the foot of her bed.

"Who…?" Isabel began to ask.

"Don't speak," Chad said quickly. "Let Patrick fix you up and then we'll talk: first about what happened and then about your awful taste in décor."


	8. Chapter Seven

Derek sipped his coffee, notebook in front of him as he sat at the picnic table outside. The change of scenery was nice and the sounds of the surrounding people were like little blips of inspiration. He just needed to grab at one of this blips and continue writing.

Researching was getting difficult. It had started with just the Montgomerys. Just researching them took a lot of time and he still wasn't completely done. But to save himself from dying of insanity from focusing on the same family for too long, he began to write about Maria and Gladys, the two girls who had been killed by that one guy which ended up inspiring many across the country to recreate the tragedy.

Inspiring people like the bastards that could have killed Isabel. It really had been a good thing that she had not been home. He would have been so devastated... He really could not thank Constance enough for having been there for Isabel.

"Mr. Noble?" A voice interrupted Derek from his thoughts.

When Derek looked up, he was caught off guard by the sight of a stranger with a disfigured appearance. Skin that was scarred by what Derek could only assume had been a fire covered half of the man's face and presumably the rest of his body. The stranger had brown eyes though the eye on the burned side of his face was milky and it looked like he had cataracts.

Derek smiled. "What can I do you for?"

Larry Harvey grinned at the man. "This is quite the honor. I'm a huge fan of yours." He sat down beside Derek. "And when I heard that you had come to LA and moved into the Murder House, well I knew that I had a chance of running into you one of these days."

""''""""""'""""'"

Isabel stared at the bandage on her arm. Patrick had fixed her up quite nicely. And now it was time to address the elephant in the room: the fact that the last owners of the house were standing right in front of her even though they died a year ago.

She was on the fence about how to react. What would they do if she freaked out? What would they do if she didn't?

"Now can someone tell me what the hell is going on?" Isabel demanded.

Chad smirked. His arms were folded across his chest. "You haven't figured it out yet? We're ghosts. Boo," he replied with his usual sarcastic tone.

How though? Ghosts didn't exist! They weren't real! This had to just be a dream. Yes, a very bad dream and any moment, she would wake up and everything would be fine.

Except she wasn't waking up.

What was worse was that she knew Chad and Patrick couldn't be the only ones. They weren't the only people to die in this place. Surely there were more ghosts, which was far from a comforting thought.

There was a soft knock and Moira entered the room with a steaming mug. She gave Isabel a weak smile. "I figured you could use some nice chamomile tea about now."

The tea was set on the bedside table. "So you know about…?" Isabel trailed off and when she met Moira's eyes, a lot of things became clear. "You're one of them, aren't you?"

Sadly, Moira nodded.

This was nearly too much. How had she been able to go so long without noticing that the maid was a ghost? All of this was starting to make Isabel's head hurt. She rubbed her temples and after a second of hesitance, she picked up the mug and sipped the hot tea. It was calming but didn't keep her head from spinning.

She felt like she wanted to cry. This was scary and unreal and confusing and just downright frustrating. Ghosts! Her house was actually haunted! And there was no way in hell that her father was ever going to believe her, even if she introduced him to Chad and Patrick.

Isabel took a deep breath, doing her best to stay as calm as she could. "Anymore secrets you'd like to tell me?"

"No," Moira answered. "There are things that you should know. But nothing that I'm responsible for telling you about."

Oh great. Whatever was in store for her, Isabel was not looking forward to. She leaned back against her pillow, closing her eyes and groaning in complaint.

"Oh come on now, look on the bright side," said Chad as he wandered over to the window and looked out of it.

Isabel opened her eyes and looked to Chad. "Oh yeah? And what's the bright side?"

"No idea," was Chad's answer. Isabel rolled her eyes. Chad continued, "Now, about your choice in paint for your walls."

Simultaneously, Patrick and Moira groaned.

"''"""""'"""""'"""

"I'd like to thank you for your help, Mr. Harvey." Derek closed his notebook. This Larry guy had introduced himself as a fan and ended up being a wealth of knowledge about the Murder House. "You've really given me some great insight."

Larry gave Derek a crooked smile. "It's been a pleasure talking to you." A real pleasure indeed as it had given him the perfect opportunity for him to get to know the man who raised his daughter…

"'''""""'"""""""'

_The basement was dimly lit despite it being the middle of the afternoon. Larry stayed in the shadows, waiting. He knew she would come with Isabel being in school and Derek being shut up in his study, trying to write. All Larry had to do was just wait for her to come through the basement door._

_Sure enough, Constance quietly opened the door and crept into the basement. "Tate?" she beckoned in a stage whisper. "Tate sweetheart, are you there?"_

_"Darling?" Larry's voice caused Constance to gasp in surprise. When she turned and saw him coming out of the shadows, he took off his hat and held it against his chest as he gave her a pathetic smile._

_"And just what are you doing here?" she sneered, taking a step back from Larry as he neared her._

_It hurt him that Constance did not want to even be near him; the woman who once claimed to love him. "I knew you'd come here. I just had to see you. We have to talk. Please, I still love you."_

_He reached out to her, but Constance stepped away from his touch. "That's your problem." She looked upon the disfigured man with absolute disgust. "Leave this house. I don't want you to come back, you hear?"_

_It wasn't her choice to make, of course; this was no longer her house. But Constance knew that Larry would do what she said no matter what. God, she couldn't believe she ever let this monster of a man impregnate her. It had been a terrible mistake. A mistake that he mustn't know about._

_Larry knew that there had been a child. He just didn't know that the child was living in the house with Derek Noble. And Constance was determined to keep it that way. She wanted a perfect life with the perfect child and Larry knowing who Isabel was would certainly ruin it._

_He already knew, though. How could he not? Concealed in shadows he had watched Derek and Isabel move into the house; had seen them make themselves at home. Isabel could very well be Derek's biological daughter. But she wasn't._

_She had Constance's eyes._

"''""""'""""'""""

"I still can't believe this," Isabel muttered. But she had to. There was proof on her arm.

Right, there was proof on her arm in the shape of a bite mark! Her father would have no choice but to believe her. He might not believe that there were ghosts even if he spoke to one of them. Blood and a bite mark was clear evidence that he couldn't deny though.

Isabel tried getting out of bed. Moira put a hand on the girl's shoulder though. "Rest," the maid urged her. "You've just been through quite the ordeal. Sleep and we can talk when you wake up."

When Isabel laid down, Moira brought the duvet up to her chin and gave a soft smile. Despite the smile, she was full of worry now. She knew that the day would come when Derek would learn that she was a ghost. She just never expected it to be this soon.

""'"""""'""""""'"

Constance stared out of her bedroom window, as if in a trance. She had a feeling that something had gone wrong. And her feelings were usually right.

Suddenly her neck was being kissed and Constance leaned back against Travis as he brought his arms around her waist. "What's the matter?" he murmured against her neck.

"Nothing," she assured him, lying through her teeth. She couldn't always act on her intuition. Travis was sweet but he made things difficult sometimes. Oh well. Turning around to face him, Constance put a hand on his chest and guided him down onto the bed.


	9. Chapter Eight

"What happened to your arm?" Derek asked. He and Isabel were at the dinner table. Moira had "gone home" an hour ago, but Isabel knew better now. She half expected to see the maid pass through the halls at any moment though she knew that if Moira didn't want to be seen, she wouldn't be.

Isabel glanced to her arm. How had he been able to tell that something happened? She wore a long sleeved sweatshirt to cover the bandage that Patrick had put on her.

As if reading her mind, Derek offered a small smile. "It looks stiff." The trouble with an author as a dad: small details never went amiss. "Did you bang it or something?"

"Yeah," Isabel answered, glad that Derek had provided an excuse for her.

It had taken a lot of debating on whether or not she should tell her father the truth about this house. There had been major arguing between her, Chad, and Patrick. Moira had expressed her opinion as well. No one wanted to be revealed yet. The last thing the dead wanted was for someone like the Ghostbusters to come in.

Isabel supposed she could respect that. But that also meant keeping quiet about that  _thing_  that had attacked her. And if the unseen residents of the Murder House were not going to let her bring in outside help, that meant she needed to handle things on her own for the most part.

"So Halloween is coming up soon," Isabel remarked. This actually worried her. There was some freaky-ass creature in the basement and Leah expected to her to host a party.

Derek nodded as he put a forkful of dinner into his mouth. "Yup," he said with his mouth full. "Any particular reason you're bringing that up?"

She wanted to say no. How could she though? Leah would hate her if she came to school saying the party was no-go. And she would have no good excuse. "Can I have a party? Like a whole Halloween-themed kind of thing?"

Normally, Isabel would have given Derek her most pleading look (which included the raised eyebrows, wide eyes, and pouting lower lip) however, this time around she didn't even look at him when she asked.

"Sure," her father answered.

So that settled it. She was going to have to take care of whatever was in the basement before the party. Three days. How hard could it be?

"'''"""""'""""''"""

Isabel lay awake that night, unable to sleep at all. She kept thinking about that creature in the basement. What had she been told it had been? Nora Montgomery's child? No, that couldn't be possible. It wasn't a child. It was a monster and it was in her basement.

She felt the weight on the bed shift. Sitting up, Isabel reached over to turn on the lamp that rested on her bedside table. With the light on, she saw that it was Moira who was sitting on the edge of her bed now.

"I can't sleep," Isabel said dumbly. Obviously she couldn't sleep otherwise she wouldn't be awake.

"So I see." Moira took Isabel's hand to extend the girl's injured arm. "You're thinking about Thaddeus, aren't you?"

Isabel nodded, finding it so strange that such a beast had such a human name. "I'm supposed to have a party on Halloween," she explained to the maid, who probably already knew this. "There's gotta be something we can do about Thaddeus before that." How to get rid of such a demon though?

Moira pursed her lips in thought. She hated to even consider it. But she also liked Isabel and did want to help her. "I do believe I know of someone who can be of assistance." Isabel eagerly awaited Moira to tell her who. "Years ago, Constance lived in this house as well. When she learned it was haunted, she brought someone in to address the situation. A woman named Billie Dean Howard."

"'''""""'"""""

The next morning was Saturday. Isabel woke up before Derek did and wasted no time in getting ready for what she was about to do. After putting on her skater skirt and crop top with a cardigan, Isabel ran a hairbrush through her long mousy brown hair. After checking her appearance in the mirror, she headed out and went next door.

Isabel knocked a few times on Constance's door and waited for an answer.

The knock disrupted Constance from her sleep. Now who could that possibly be at seven in the morning on a Saturday? She looked to Travis who was still asleep beside her in the bed. She got up and tied a floral housecoat around her before going to answer the door with a huff of annoyance.

Her attitude quickly changed when she saw that it was Isabel at the door. "Isabel… what is it?"

"It's about the house."

That gave enough away. Isabel knew about the ghosts. Constance stepped aside. "Come on in."

Tea was made, chamomile of course to help soothe Isabel if the conversation took a turn for the word. Constance would occasionally glance at the ceiling, expecting Travis or Adelaide to wake up any second.

Isabel sat at the kitchen table and Constance placed a cup of tea in front of her. Isabel thanked her and took a sip as Constance sat down across from her with her own cup of tea. The house was quiet, which didn't surprise Isabel as it was still fairly early for a Saturday morning. She wasn't sorry for having woken up Constance. This was rather urgent.

It was wonderfully strange to see her daughter sitting across from her in the morning. For a split second, Constance daydreamed that Isabel lived with her and this was mother-daughter quality time. A special little thing they would do on Saturday mornings: waking up before everyone else and have breakfast together.

But that was only wishful thinking.

Constance broke the silence. "So you know about the house," she stated, reiterating what had been said before.

Isabel nodded. "Yeah, and I need your help. There's something in that house. It's not human and it's not a ghost."

"Thaddeus Montgomery."

"Uh-huh. And that little shit attacked me." Isabel shed her cardigan and showed Constance her bandaged arm. "I need Thaddeus gone in two days at the latest. Moira says you know someone who can help. Someone named Billie Dean?"

Clasping her cup of tea in two hands, Constance nodded. "Yes, Billie Dean Howard is a medium and an old friend. I'm sure that if there is anyone who knows how to get rid of something like Thaddeus, it would be her."

It had never been an issue to Constance before so she never considered bringing in Billie Dean to get rid of the demon child. But her daughter got hurt, giving Constance a very good reason to get this issue resolved.

"Good. I want him gone before Thaddeus can hurt anyone else."

"I'll go and call her now."


	10. Chapter Nine

Travis had come downstairs to find Constance chatting with the neighbor. "Hey babe," he said as he kissed Constance's cheek. "I've got an audition today; don't know when I'll be back."

"That's alright." Constance sounded a bit distracted. She was more focused on the fact that Isabel was there. Ever since realizing that her neighbor was her daughter, she longed for this moment. Constance knew she had been a damn fool in giving up her fourth child. And she wanted her back now.

Travis acknowledged Isabel with a "hey" as he slipped on his jacket and then was out the door. He felt confident about this audition and would hopefully get the part. It was for just a small part on a television show. But it was a start and he felt sure it was the start he needed.

When Travis walked out the door, Isabel and Constance were left alone again. "Where's Addie?" Isabel asked, noticing the lack of Adelaide's appearance in her own home.

"Probably up in her room, reading," said Constance.

It was a lie. She knew exactly where Adelaide was and it wasn't in her bedroom.

""""'"""""'"""

A red ball rolled across the basement floor to Adelaide. She giggled quietly and rolled the ball back to Beau. She missed being able to see her brother whenever she wanted. She missed living in this house. But Isabel lived there now with her father. That was okay. Adelaide was content to just sneak over.

"Hey Addie," said Tate as she sat down on the floor beside his sister. He put an arm around her shoulders. He didn't like going so long without seeing his sweet sister. She was the one thing left in this world that was good; pure. Adelaide laughed again, a little louder this time. "Shh, don't be too loud," Tate warned. "Izzy and her dad are upstairs."

Adelaide shook her head. "Nuh-uh. She's with Mom," Adelaide informed Tate. "I heard them talking in the kitchen."

Tate frowned at this. Why would Isabel be with Constance? He didn't think his friend had any reason to be with that woman. "Do you know why?" he asked Adelaide as she continued to play with Beau.

"No, I couldn't hear what they were saying." And Adelaide didn't really care what business Isabel had with her mother as it was most likely something that didn't interest her. "Are you and her friends?"

"Yeah," Tate answered.

"Do you think she's a pretty girl?"

There was some hesitation that came with his answer. Isabel was rather plain looking. But that wasn't why he hesitated to reply. "Sure, but not in  _that_  way. In the same way that I think you're a pretty girl." There was just something about Isabel that made Tate feel connected to her, but not attracted. There was something about Isabel that made her feel familiar.

Something about her eyes especially. Though it had been quite a long time since he had looked his mother directly in the eyes. His mind didn't make the connection that his friend was something more. And he died before he knew that there not three Langdon children including himself, but four.

""'"""""'""""'""

"I was surprised to get your phone call so early on a Saturday," Billie Dean remarked. Though she spoke to Constance, she kept her eyes on Isabel, the newest resident of the Murder House. "Now what is it that you need me for?"

Constance motioned to Isabel for her to go ahead and tell Billie Dean of her issue. "Thaddeus Montgomery; that weird sort of demon child thing. I need it gone."

Now that wasn't something Billie Dean was expecting. She dealt with ghosts. Demons were a different story though; trickier. "That's not something that can be taken care of overnight."

"Why not? Can't you just make a circle of salt and say an exorcism?"

Billie Dean gave a tight lipped smile. "You've been watching too much  _Supernatural_ ," she said. "It isn't that simple."

That was extremely disappointing to hear. "Okay, not helpful," Isabel said bluntly. And there was another problem she needed to have taken care of. "Can you at least tell me what's gonna happen to me?" Again, she took off her cardigan and showed off her bandaged arm.

Billie Dean raised her eyebrows. "May I?" she asked. Without waiting for a response, she uncovered Isabel's arm and revealed the bite mark given to her by Thaddeus. "No sign of infection… have you felt strange ever since you were bitten?" When Isabel shook her head, Billie Dean pursed her lips. "I believe you'll be fine," she assured the girl.

That was more than a relief to both Isabel and Constance. So it seemed the bite wouldn't do anything to her except maybe leave a scar. Isabel would happily have a scar rather than become possessed or whatever.

Isabel said, "Now about getting rid of Thaddeus: I know you said it isn't simple. It doesn't have to be simple. I'll do anything." Even if it was a process that took months. It wasn't just about getting rid of the Montgomery child before the Halloween party. It was about making her father and herself safe.

"Perhaps I should be clearer: when I say it isn't simple, I mean it isn't possible." Isabel felt her heart sink down into the pit of her stomach. It wasn't possible? Billie Dean went on. "There is a way of getting rid of the ghosts that are bound to the house. But a demon bound to the house for unknown reasons can't be gotten rid of."

Isabel felt like she wanted to cry. This was terrible and frightening. She didn't reply and instead just focused on the bite mark on her arm.

"Come with me, honey," said Constance gently to Isabel. "We'll clean you up and re-bandage you."

She guided Isabel to the bathroom upstairs, leaving Billie Dean alone. The medium shook her head. It was clear to her who Isabel was. And it was clear to her that Constance had told Isabel nothing about their relation.

That seemed irresponsible to Billie Dean. She knew of Constance's lineage; her blood relation to the Delongpres, which included Mimi Delongpre, a renowned Supreme when she had been alive. Isabel could be in possession of remarkable abilities and not even know it. That could go one of two ways: either wonderful things could happen or disaster could strike.


	11. Chapter Ten

To tell or not to tell. That was what Constance was struggling with. It was damn near painful to watch her day in and day out and not be able to hold her close. The perfect child and she couldn't have her.

Constance took a long drag from her cigarette. She then dropped it on the ground and crushed it with her heel before she came into the house from walking one of the dogs. Addie was sitting at the table, listening to Travis read out loud from one her books about Halloween. On the kitchen table was a bag of chocolate chips and Addie and Travis were eating from it.

"What are going to be for Halloween, Addie?" Travis asked Adelaide. The girl hesitated for a moment before whispering to Travis what she intended to be for Halloween this year. "Well that's cool," Travis told her. "Look at you, are you blushing?"

"Did I say you could eat my chocolate chips?" Constance interrupted. "I was going to make cookies with those. Now someone's going to have to go to the market and get me another bag."

"I'll go," Travis offered right off the bat, standing up.

Constance looked hesitant to say yes. As a response, she took fifty dollars from her purse and handed it over. "Get us a pack of cigarettes while you're there."

Travis took the fifty dollars with a rather surprised look. "I'll use the rest to fill up my bike, cool?" Without waiting for an answer, he put on his leather jacket, kissed Constance's cheek and then was out the door.

With Travis out of the house, Constance let her eyes fall on Addie. "What was that all about huh? You know how to read." Adelaide looked down at her lap, not wanting to meet her mother's eyes as if embarrassed. "And just what did you tell him you wanted to be for Halloween?"

Hesitantly, Adelaide unfolded the magazine page that she had kept. "I wanna go as her; as the pretty girl." Tate had told her that she was a pretty girl. But Adelaide wanted to look like the girls in the magazines.

Constance gave a bitter "ha" at her daughter's words. "You'll go as Snoopy again.

"But―!"

"You'll go as Snoopy or not at all." Constance grabbed the book Travis had been reading to Addie from the kitchen table. "And no more of this."

Before Constance could leave the room, Adelaide, "The dead can walk free on Halloween."

Constance stopped and faced her daughter. Oh how she wished it was just Isabel she was turning to face; the perfect child she had always wanted. "Well we've always known that."

It was then that Constance made her decision. She was going to tell. She was going to get her daughter back.

""""'''"""""""

"Dad said he's staying out until one in the morning," said Isabel. Chad was standing on a stepstool, hanging streamers and Isabel passed to him a strip of tape from the roll she was holding. "So you guys don't have to hide until then."

That would be pleasing to hear if Chad planned on sticking around after helping out with the decorating. But no, he intended on leaving the house on the one night he was able to.

So far, everything was going well. Chad and Patrick were helping put up decorations, Moira was carving pumpkins; things were coming along.

"I want to have a bobbing-for-apples station," state Chad as he came down from the stepstool. "It'll really tie the room together. Go to the store and get a bag of gala apples."

"Sure." Isabel set down the roll of tape and went to the kitchen to find her car keys. She passed Moira in the dining room and saw the designs on the pumpkins. "Wow, those are awesome Moira."

The maid smiled proudly at her handiwork. "Thank you; I really enjoy crafts." There was a pause and Moira put down her carving tool. "I was wondering… may I have the night off? I'd like to visit my mother." She sounded hesitant to ask, as if afraid of the answer.

Isabel tilted her head to the side slightly. "But… I thought you can't leave the house?"

"The dead can walk free on Halloween."

Isabel turned to see Addie, who had spoken these words. How had Addie gotten in? Remembering Constance's words though (about Adelaide always finding a way into the house) she didn't bother to ask. And it seemed she knew about the house as well. Honestly, at this point, nothing surprised Isabel anymore.

Adelaide stepped towards Isabel. "Make me a pretty girl, Izzy. Like you."

Caught off guard the request, Isabel wasn't sure how to respond. "Oh, uh I…" A blush crept up onto her cheeks. "Yeah, um, just wait 'til I get back from the store." Gala apples, those were priority.

""'""""""'""""''""

Isabel had gone out and gotten the gala apples that Chad had wanted. When she walked back into the house, it looked amazing. Streamers had been hung, a snack table set up, creepy decorations; the works. It was wonderful.

"Apples for Chad," she said to Patrick as she walked up to him.

"I'll make sure he gets them," Patrick replied, taking the bag of apples from Isabel. "Addie's in your room," he added before walking away to give the apples to Chad.

Isabel headed for the stairs. Halfway up the staircase, she got an eerie feeling. A chill went down her spine and the temperature dropped noticeably a few degrees. Isabel paused at the top of the stairs, suddenly fearful to go down the hall to her room.

She took one step forward and then suddenly, a figure dressed completely in black came out of nowhere and grabbed her. Isabel shrieked and nearly punched the figure in the face when it pulled away, chuckling.

Tate unzipped the head of the latex suit, revealing himself to Isabel. When she saw that it was just Tate, she started to laugh with him. "Oh my god, you little shit!" she chided through her laughter, hitting his arm.

"Gotcha," Tate said teasingly. "What are you up to?"

He began to follow Isabel as she started to once again head in the direction of her room. Tate knew that Isabel was aware of the whole ghost thing. She just didn't know how he died. She didn't know how many of the people in the house died. She only knew as much as her father and his research so far had only gone as far as Gladys and Maria.

"Getting ready for the party tonight," Isabel answered. "Where the hell did you find that thing anyway?" she asked, referencing his full body black latex suit.

Tate glanced down at the getup and grinned. "It was Chad's," he replied and Isabel made a face while saying, "Gross." Tate went on to say, "Are you gonna invite Addie to the party?" He knew his sister liked Isabel, since Isabel was one of the few living people who were nice to her.

Isabel shrugged. "I don't see why not. I guess it's really up to Ms. Langdon. How do you know Adelaide anyway?"

There was a small pause. "She's my sister."


	12. Chapter Eleven

Adelaide sat in front of Isabel's vanity. Isabel stood behind her, brushing her dark curls. "So… Tate is your brother?" Isabel asked hesitantly.

"Yup." Adelaide was focused on her reflection as she was being transformed into a pretty girl.

"So… you know that he's…?"

"Dead, yeah." Adelaide acted so nonchalant about this. "That's why I like coming here. I like seeing him and my other brother."

Other brother? So there were even more ghosts? "I didn't know that you had other siblings," Isabel remarked. So Tate was Adelaide's brother, Constance's son, and there was another brother as well apparently. She hadn't thought Constance had children other than Adelaide.

"I've got two brothers and a sister but my mom gave the sister away when she was born." Adelaide had been aware of her mother's pregnancy and of the decision to give up the child. Constance had left Larry before that. It had been quite a chaotic time in their lives. But that was years ago.

Isabel took her eyeliner and started to apply it onto Adelaide's eyelids. She dropped the subject of the Langdon children and focused on the makeup, choosing a light brown eye shadow once she was done with the liner. "Almost done," she murmured in thought. Isabel contemplated on lipstick but decided against it.

She moved aside then so that Adelaide could see herself in the mirror. The makeup wasn't exactly done like the models in  _Vogue_ , but Isabel had done her best and it came out pretty damn awesome if she was to say so herself.

"Wow, Izzy, I look beautiful!" Addie gushed. She was beaming brightly.

Isabel smiled, very pleased with her work and how it made Adelaide feel. "Yeah, you do."

"''""""'"""'"""

Adelaide happily skipped back into her house. She felt so lively and pretty. She wanted Isabel to come with her to the house to hang out. And she knew that if Isabel was with her, then perhaps her mother would be in an okay mood. Constance always seemed to be in a good mood when Isabel was around.

But Isabel had said she needed to stay home to bake a ton of cookies and get her own costume ready. Apparently she was having a party and Addie intended to ask Constance if she could go since Isabel invited her. It would be so much fun and she'd be able to show off her makeover!

Addie found her mother in the kitchen, starting on dinner. Constance turned when she heard Addie enter. The woman nearly dropped the knife she was holding when she saw what her daughter looked like. "What in the hell are you wearing on your face?" Constance demanded. She had never given Adelaide makeup and so she assumed that Addie had gone through her things.

"Izzy gave me a makeover," said Adelaide, beaming. She was obviously quite pleased by this. "She made me a pretty girl for Halloween. She also invited me to her Halloween party."

Constance scoffed, shaking her head. "Go clean yourself up, Adelaide," she ordered.

"No."

Adelaide had never really defied Constance before. There had been many instances when she would make things difficult for her mother. But to say "no" flat out? It was unheard of.

Not at all pleased to hear this word come from her daughter, Constance set down her knife and folded her arms across her chest. "Adelaide, go wipe that smut off your face this instant!"

"No!" Addie repeated, this time more firmly. "I wanna be a pretty girl!"

"Well you're not a pretty girl!" No, not like Isabel. Constance refrained from saying that out loud though.

Those words were like a slap in the face to Adelaide. Worse, even. Her own mother did not think she was a pretty girl. Adelaide stood there, stunned for a moment. Unsure of how to respond, she said nothing. Instead, she ran out of the kitchen.

Realizing the effect of her words, Constance stepped forth in a pathetic attempt to get to Addie before she left the kitchen. But the girl was already up the stairs and slammed her bedroom door shut.

Constance stood alone in the kitchen now, rather dumbfounded. There was too much going on for her right now. She needed to find the right time to tell Isabel the truth and to claim her daughter once more and all the while she had her current family to balance.

With her head beginning to pound, Constance grabbed a tumbler and her bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and poured herself a shot.

""'"""""''""""'""

Isabel looked at herself in the mirror with pursed lips. Her long brown hair was a little frizzy from having just been blow dried. Once she had finished baking what could easily be a hundred cookies, she and the kitchen had been covered in flour. Moira was gone so Isabel cleaned the kitchen herself. Not surprisingly, none of the other ghosts had showed up to help with the cleaning.

And now she was showered and clean. All that was left before the party was to put on her costume and do her makeup.

Stepping away from the mirror, Isabel put on her multicolored striped tee-shirt, overall skirt with the label "Good Guy" on the front, and once she put on her red knee socks, she slipped on the red Converse shoes that matched the outfit.

"And what are you supposed to be?" Tate asked from behind Isabel.

Isabel did not turn to look at him and instead looked at his reflection in the mirror. "Dude, okay, super creepy that you're in my room when I'm getting dressed."

"Sorry," replied Tate. "But seriously, what are you supposed to be?"

He watched as Isabel began to do her eyeliner.

She answered, "I'm a girl version of Chucky from  _Child's Play._ You've seen it haven't you?"

He rolled his eyes at the very thought of having not seen it. "Duh, of course I've seen it." It had come out six years before his death. He remembered sneaking into the movie theater to see it. His mother had been home, drunk at the time so it had been easy to leave the house without her noticing.

There was silence that followed as Isabel focused on her makeup. Tate didn't watch her and instead looked around her room… his room. It was hardly recognizable. The walls weren't the dark green he had them but instead were lilac. Dear god.

"Are you gonna stick around for the party or nah?" Isabel asked, setting down her eyeliner. She turned to watch Tate.

He shrugged. "I might show up." That was a lie. He didn't intend to show up at all. The kids who were coming were from Westfield. Isabel didn't know how he had died. But someone was bound to notice and even recognize him as the kid who shot up Westfield High.

Isabel returned to focusing on her reflection but couldn't quite decide how she wanted to do the rest of her makeup. "Do you think Chad would know anything about doing Halloween makeup?"

Tate gave Isabel a look that clearly said "is that really a question?" Of course he would. Halloween was Chad's favorite holiday. "Have fun at the party," said Tate as he opened her bedroom door to leave instead of just disappearing.

"Thanks!" Isabel replied over her shoulder.

"'"""""""""""

With her makeup done, the decorations up, and the house cleared of pretty much all spirits, it was time for the party to begin.

Isabel couldn't help but constantly look at her arm. Chad had helped with her makeup and with what she would describe as magic, the bite mark given to her by Thaddeus was no longer visible. It was a miracle, really.

At a little after eight o'clock, those invited and those not invited started strolling on in through the front door.

For music, Isabel had plugged her iPod into the stereo system; earlier she had downloaded new music after Leah had texted her a list of songs that needed be to played. But only minutes after the party started, someone already unplugged the device and put on their own music.

"What in the hell are you wearing?" Leah asked Isabel as she looked her from head-to-toe.

Isabel looked down at her costume and then looked at Leah's. What Isabel wore was nothing like Leah's sexy dead cheerleader outfit that was more provocative and suggestive than anything. "Uh, it's like… the girl version of Chucky," Isabel answered, sounding a bit embarrassed.

Leah huffed quietly. "Well, I guess it could be worse." Those words did little to make Isabel feel better. "Where's the punch bowl?"

Halfheartedly, Isabel pointed in the direction of the bowl of punch where it was nestled among a sea of homemade cookies and other snacks. Leah and her lackeys went in that direction, leaving Isabel by herself.

It wasn't a bad party. It just wasn't what Isabel was expecting. She sometimes forgot that this wasn't Massachusetts. This was Los Angeles. These weren't her friends.


	13. Chapter Twelve

"Addie?" Constance walked into her daughter's room. There she found Adelaide sitting on the bed in her pajamas, staring wistfully out the window. "Well where's your costume? Aren't you going to Isabel's party?" Constance stepped further into the room. "I thought you wanted to be a pretty girl."

Expectedly, Addie stayed silent; ignoring Constance. The woman sat down on the edge of her daughter's bed and held up the brown paper bag she was holding. This caught Adelaide's interest. Constance opened the bag and pulled out a mask.

"See, and now you don't have to worry about makeup or anything."

Adelaide took hold of the mask and looked at it in awe. It was the face of the girl she wanted to be. It was the face of a pretty girl. A small smile graced her features, which pleased Constance very much. She stood from the bed, taking Adelaide's hand to guide her along. "Come on then, let's see if I have something that'll fit you… maybe one of my old maternity dresses."

After Constance picked out a dress for Adelaide to wear, she left her daughter to get ready on her own. There came a knock at the door and she was surprised to find Isabel.

"Hey Ms. Langdon," Isabel greeted with a weak smile.

"Isabel, what is it?" There was a bit of concern behind Constance's voice. She could sense that something wasn't quite right.

Deciding that it wasn't something that Constance should be concerned with, Isabel merely waved off her worry. "It's nothing. I just came by for Addie. I know I invited her to my party but…" she glanced over to the Murder House for a moment. "I really don't think it's something she'd like." Hell, it was her own party and she wasn't having fun. "Would it be alright with you if she and I just walked around the neighborhood?" Isabel paused a moment before adding, "With Tate?"

The dead could walk freely among the living on Halloween night. It was Tate's only chance of the year to roam Los Angeles. And Isabel easily picked up on that Tate loved his sister. So it really did not seem like a bad idea to Isabel.

_Tell her, tell her, tell her_ ; that kept repeating in Constance's head. When would she ever get another chance to tell Isabel just what was on her mind? Here was her daughter standing right in front of her with no one else around.

"I think that's a fine idea," said Constance distractedly. She stepped aside, holding the door open. "Why don't you come in for a few moments? I think you and I need to have talk. It's rather important."

Isabel's stomach twisted into knots. Just what in the world did Constance have to say to her? While Adelaide was still upstairs, the two of them were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table.

There was silence at first. Constance couldn't quite figure out how to word this. She didn't wish to be too blunt. But being too subtle would also be a bad idea. She was lost. Constance fiddled with her hands. How to begin?

"It isn't easy for me to find the words," Constance began slowly, "to tell you what I need to say. I never thought I would find myself in such a situation."

"And what situation would that be?" Isabel was hesitant to ask.

Perhaps it would be best to start at the very beginning. "When I first came to LA, I had dreams of becoming a movie star. But that hadn't worked out." And did Constance regret that? Sometimes, yes. Now was not the time to linger on those thoughts, though. "Instead, I married and had three children."

This confused Isabel. "Adelaide told me that you had four: two boys and two girls."

If Constance was surprised to hear that Addie told this to Isabel, she didn't let it show. "Yes. My husband left me when Tate was just six." A lie that wasn't entirely a lie. Hugo did leave her. He left her heart; he stopped loving her. "For our maid. They ran away together, abandoning me and my three children."

Isabel wondered just where Constance was going with this. It hardly made any sense to her. None of this was her business. So why was she being told such details?

Constance went on. "Years later, I found another man. A man named Lawrence Harvey. And with him, I had one more child." Her vision became misty and Constance was quick to wipe her eyes before any tears could spill. This was it. She was finally confessing to Isabel everything she had been dying to say. And she was so afraid. "And I couldn't take care of that child." A lie. She could have. She just hadn't wanted to. "I had to give her up."

Suddenly, it was starting to make sense to Isabel as to why Constance had brought this up. She took a deep breath. "And you think that's me."

"No. I don't think that's you. I  _know_  it is."

A stunned silence followed. A silence that was interrupted by Adelaide coming into the kitchen in her costume.

"Izzy!" she said excitedly. "Look, I'm a pretty girl!"

Isabel didn't answer. She was too distracted by what she had just been told. Abruptly, Isabel stood from the table and just walked out of the house before anyone could stop her. Constance barely had time to react. But when what just happened registered, she was on her feet.

"Isabel, wait." Constance spoke firmly, standing up. But Isabel was already marching out the door. "Adelaide, stay here," the woman ordered her eldest daughter before following Isabel outside into the street. "Isabel, will you please wait and listen to what I have to say?"

"And why should I?" Isabel snapped, turning on her heels to face Constance. She felt so pathetic, standing there in the middle of the road with tears in her eyes. Isabel took a deep breath to try and calm herself. "How long did you know I was your daughter?"

The answer did not come right away. "For a few weeks now." A little longer than that actually but the answer Constance gave didn't sound as bad. "I wasn't sure of how to tell you. As you can imagine, this is very difficult for me."

"No, I can't imagine this being difficult for you." Isabel spoke in a tone harsher than she intended. "It was your decision; your choice to give me up."

"Isabel please, just come back into the house and we can talk."

"I don't want to go anywhere with you!"

She was too busy to notice her surroundings. She was blinded by anger and frustration and hurt and confusion. And there hadn't been headlights.

All Isabel had become aware of was when she turned away from Constance, the vehicle was a mere foot away from her. Her eyes widened and for a split second she resembled a deer caught in the headlights. The car was moving fast and she didn't have time to react.

"Isabel!" she heard Constance scream.

And then nothing. No pain. Not even discomfort. All Isabel had felt was herself being pulled forcefully in a certain direction. She had closed her eyes when that happened and now, slowly, she opened them.

There she was nestled in Constance's arms. Isabel could hear the sound of the speeding car getting more and more distant.

Holy hell, she had almost been hit. She had almost been hit by a car and Constance had pulled her out of the way.

Constance cradled Isabel close, holding her baby girl to her and kissing her forehead. Her heart was pounding like a drum. She almost watched her precious daughter get struck by a car. If she hadn't pulled Isabel out of the way…

Isabel broke down into sobs.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Clearly Isabel was rattled by everything: the news, the near tragedy. It seemed like she couldn't be comforted. But Constance did her best, just holding her close and kissing the top of her head repeatedly.

"Sweetheart, it's alright," Constance murmured to her, doing what she had not gotten to do for almost seventeen years: comfort her youngest daughter. "It's alright; you're safe. It's going to be just fine."

That was a lie and Isabel knew it. Things weren't going to be just fine. Things were a mess. An absolute mess that couldn't be picked up. With her mind racing and heart thudding, Isabel pulled away from Constance. For a split second, she missed the contact. But the feeling did not last long.

"No, no it isn't. It's not going to be 'just fine,'" she argued. This was bullshit! It had never been a secret to Isabel that she had been adopted. But to learn that Constance Langdon was her mother? It was beyond shocking. And she wasn't sure how to react. Isabel didn't actually want to be angry. Anger was the first emotion that made itself known though.

With Adelaide, Constance always ran out of patience quickly. But with Isabel, that didn't seem to be the case. Did that make her a bad mother? Constance didn't believe so. Adelaide was frustrating to deal with because how she had been born. Isabel was perfect in her eyes and Constance could easily deal with perfection.

"Why are you so upset about this?" Constance asked calmly. It was a serious question. What was distressing her? What could be done to stop it? What could Momma do to make her darling girl feel better?

Isabel ran a hand through her hand, pushing it out of her face. "I… I don't know. Because of everything? Does it matter?" That was a stupid thing to say. Of course it mattered what was upsetting her. But Isabel wasn't thinking straight.

This was too much at once. The party that was still going on, finding out that Constance was her mother, and being almost hit by a car; it was just too much. Isabel felt a headache start to come on. And Constance could see that this was a lot for Isabel to handle. She felt almost bad about having to tell her more.

"There's something else you should know," the older woman began.

But Isabel interrupted. "I don't wanna know anything." Not right now. It was too much to take in.

Well, that was just too bad. Constance went on anyway. "Please dear, it's important. It's about who you are. I'm sure you know of the Salem Witch Trials?"

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?" To Isabel, Constance was starting to sound crazy.

Constance sighed. This was a lot more difficult to explain than she thought it would be. "Oh hell, please Isabel just come inside and let me make you some tea and we can talk about this properly. I know this situation is shit. But… but let me just look at you for a second." She dared to put a hand on Isabel's cheek.

God, her daughter… this was the child she was supposed to have. This was the angel she had been blessed with and had turned away.

Isabel stepped away from Constance's touch. "I can't do this. Not now. I can't." She was in shock. Not much was registering anymore. She turned and started walking down the sidewalk.

But Constance would not just stand there and watch. She wanted to hold her baby girl close. She had nearly been hit by a car for Christ's sake! And Isabel needed to know about how she was. She needed to know about the power she may possess.

First thing was first: Derek. He needed to be made aware of this. Constance would make sure that he fully understood the situation and that he fully understand that she wanted her daughter back.

And she wouldn't take no for an answer.

""''''"""""'""""

Isabel sat on the park bench, feeling like shit. She wanted to change out of her costume and get into pajamas and just eat an entire gallon of ice cream. But the party was still going on at her house and she very much doubted that she'd be able to get them to leave before midnight.

She used to be worried about someone going into the basement and coming across Thaddeus. Now a dark, bitter part of her wanted that to happen. Maybe it would scare everyone away and she could be alone.

The girl looked at her arm and stared at the bite mark that was well hidden thanks to Chad and the wonders he could do with makeup.

"Having a miserable night?"

Isabel turned her gaze to a stranger who had spoken; a man who was terribly burned on half of his body.

Seeing the bit of fear in her eyes, the man chuckled softly, sitting down next to her on the bench. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna hurt you or anything. I know your dad. He and I talked about his latest book one afternoon. The name's Larry."

The name struck of a chord of familiarity with Isabel but her mind never made the connection that this man named Larry was Lawrence Harvey, the man Constance said was her father.

Isabel relaxed a little after this introduction. However, she still wasn't completely at ease. Not because of Larry's presence, but because of what she had just been through.

"You seem like you've just been through something miserable." He wanted to comfort her. But he didn't dare. As far as he knew, Isabel had no idea about him being her father. Not only that, but he was well aware of his horrible disfigurement because of that little shit Tate Langdon. An arm around the shoulder might terrify her.

Isabel couldn't help but smirk and she shook her head. "Larry, you have no idea."

So they talked. Isabel refrained from using names. And it felt nice to vent to a stranger. She did not tell him that her house was haunted. There was no need for him to know that. But she told him how she had a Halloween party that she ended up feeling out of place at even though it was her party and how she learned that her neighbor was her mother.

This surprise Larry. Yet he did not dare tell her that he was her father despite her now knowing Constance was her mother. Isabel had clearly been through too much in one night. He would wait his turn to tell her the truth.

""'"""""'"""'

Derek had come home at one in the morning as planned. The house was a mess, as he expected. Isabel was asleep on the couch and he never suspected her of leaving her own party. He had only smiled at her sleeping figure and then went upstairs to his own room.

When daylight appeared, all of the ghosts trekked back to the Murder House; their prison.

"You look like you've had one hell of a night," Gladys remarked to Tate as they walked up to the front door.

Tate didn't say anything. His hair was a mess, his clothes torn. A group of kids had gotten to him, kids who were telling him to admit to what he did. But he had no idea as to what they had been talking about.

Moira walked alongside Chad and Patrick. "You two better help me with cleaning up after the party you designed."

Chad sighed. "Fine."

And so, they were trapped again; stuck for another three-hundred-and-sixty-four days.

Isabel had woken up and gone to school, as if nothing from the night before had happened. But it did happen. And when Isabel was out of the house, Constance made her way over, knocking on the door.

Derek answered. "Oh, Constance, what can I do for you?" he asked her, head tilted to the side slightly. He hoped that she wasn't there to complain about the party from last night.

Her earnest expression wasn't very reassuring. "Mr. Noble I do believe you and I need to have a very serious talk."


	15. Chapter Fourteen

The two of them sat at the kitchen island. Moira was present as well though neither of them could see her. This had been something she didn't want to miss.

Derek was stunned. Beyond stunned really. He wasn't quite sure how to fully comprehend this information given to him by Constance. The birth mother of his adopted daughter was sitting beside him and had been living next door this whole time.

"And does Iz…?"

"Know?" Constance finished for him. "Yes, Isabel knows. I'm afraid she found it to be very upsetting news."

It would have surprised Derek if that wasn't the case. He knew his daughter well. Because that was just who she was: his daughter. And from the gleam in Constance's eyes, there was something she wanted to say on the matter. Derek could easily guess what it was.

"And I'm assuming you're telling me all of this because you want to become part of her life again, don't you?"

"That was a hope of mine, yes." Constance wasn't going to deny it. Quite the opposite. She would do anything she could to make it happen.

Derek wasn't sure how to feel about that. It had been a closed adoption. Constance had given up Isabel completely and she wanted back in now that it was convenient for her? That didn't seem fair to Isabel.

"It's up to Iz. I'm sure you realize that."

She did and that would not deter her even though the girl was bound to give a firm no. Constance gave Derek a small smile. "I do realize that. And if she's anything like me," which Constance knew she was, "she's going to be stubborn as hell about the situation."

""""'""""""""""

She had never seen the plaque before. But there it was in the library, honoring those who had died because of the Westfield High shooting. Isabel didn't know any of the names. She hadn't even known a shooting happened in this school. No one ever talked about it.

It surprised Isabel that her father hadn't chosen to write a story about that instead of the Murder House. Perhaps he intended to include it in the book. Or perhaps that was a topic that was just a bit took sensitive for him seeing as a lot of the kids who were shot died at the age she was at now.

"Crazy, right?" Isabel turned to see Leah walking up to her. "Westfield High Massacre, 1994." Hearing the year it happened made Isabel inwardly shudder. That was the year she was born, about seventeen years ago.

Isabel wanted to ask about it. She wanted to know about it. But Leah didn't give her the chance.

"Anyway, you and I are going to go shopping after school. Just the two of us. I need some new makeup and god knows you need a new outfit," Leah remarked as she looked Isabel up and down. "Meet me in the parking lot after school."

Leah started to walk away but before she got too far, she turned back to Isabel. "By the way, awesome Halloween party. Even if you weren't there for most of it."

That surprised Isabel. Leah had noticed her absence? Isabel thought no one had noticed. And Leah was the last person Isabel expected to pay attention to the fact that she had disappeared less than halfway into the party.

In response, Isabel smiled. "Thanks. I'll see you in a bit."

And not too long after, Isabel met up with Leah in the school's parking lot. Leah was leaning against the vehicle and as Isabel got closer, she opened the car door and slid into the driver's seat. "Get in loser; we're shopping."

"""""""""""""

Constance had gone home unsatisfied. Derek was hard to get through. She had hoped that he would see her side of things and maybe even insist to Isabel that they spend time with each other. However, he was adamant about leaving every decision to Isabel.

That wasn't going to work. Isabel needed to know about her past; her bloodline. She needed to know about the power she might possess before something bad happened.

"Why didn't you tell me Izzy was my sister?" Adelaide demanded.

Constance broke away from her thoughts and looked at her eldest daughter who now stood with her in the kitchen. "What do you mean?" she asked, deciding to play dumb in hopes of Adelaide just letting this go.

Adelaide gave a cry of frustration. "I'm not stupid like you think! I know things! I know that she's my sister but you weren't gonna tell me, were you?"

It baffled Constance had Adelaide knew that much already. But then she concluded how. When she had gone over to the Murder House to talk with Derek, Adelaide must have sneaked over as well and overheard the conversation. Damn that girl!

"I am in no mood to discuss this with you right now," Constance said firmly.

Then when would she be in the mood? This was important to Adelaide. Constance had gotten tunnel vision about this situation. It didn't involve only her. Adelaide was involved. Hell, even Travis was as well to a certain extent. This was their family. Not just Constance.

Adelaide stamped her foot, fed up with Constance's bullshit. With her hands clenched into fists, Adelaide stormed out the door.

Constance leaned against the kitchen counter, closing her eyes and counting to ten to calm herself down. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine…

There came the sound of screeching tires and then a sickening thud.

Constance's eyes shot open. What in the hell…? With a furrowed brow, she made her way outside and as she stood on her porch, she let out a horrified, blood curdling scream.

There was Adelaide, lying dead in the street.

""''""""""""

"What the hell happened?" Leah asked as she drove her car up to as close as she could get to the accident.

There were a few police and road barriers and though there was some commotion, it had clearly died down a lot from whatever had happened.

"Stay here," said Isabel to Leah as she unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the vehicle.

It looked like she was heading towards the area where a couple of police stood and where blood stained the pavement. But she changed her direction and walked up to the front door of the Langdon house.

Without knocking, Isabel walked inside. Constance was not in the kitchen where Isabel expected her to be. So Isabel ventured a little further into the home and found the woman on the couch, a bottle of brandy in her hand and her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Constance looked up and met Isabel's gaze. "Adelaide is dead," she murmured hoarsely.

That hit Isabel hard. Adelaide was dead… her half-sister was dead? Isabel tried to swallow the lump that formed in her throat but her mouth had become too dry. Wordlessly, Isabel sat down on the couch beside Constance. She took the bottle of brandy from the older woman, setting it aside.

Nothing was said by either of them during this moment. They just stared at each other. And then Constance brought her arms around her darling girl and began to sob.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Constance's crying was the only sound that filled the house. Isabel just let the woman cry. She wasn't really sure how to comfort someone going through such a horrible thing. But she seemed to be doing okay.

Finally, the tears seemed to slow. Constance pulled away from Isabel and wiped her eyes as best she could. This was not how things should be. Yes, Constance had wished that Isabel would be with her. Yes, she wished that the family consisted of  _only_  her and Isabel (and she now held much guilt within her heart about such a wish).

Now it was only her and Isabel. Just like she wanted. But this wasn't how she wanted it to happen: the two of them coming together because of Adelaide's death.

If she had just been able to get Addie to the lawn… but those damn paramedics kept pushing her away! She had tried. She had tried so damn hard to save her daughter; to preserve part of her and keep some part of her in this world. She tried reuniting Adelaide with her brother. But she hadn't been able to.

With a shaky hand, Constance cupped Isabel's cheek. "I have to tell you who are you," she whispered, her voice coarse from her crying. "Darling, you have to know about your bloodline; your heritage."

"Is this really the time?" Isabel could hardly believe it. Adelaide had just died and Constance was still insisting on explaining her past and who she was, whatever that meant.

"Now more than ever," Constance insisted. She wiped her eyes again, though it did little to help. A weak smile played across her lips. Yes, the timing was rather poor. But Constance knew that strong emotions could awaken the power within her daughter, and this was certainly an emotional occurrence. "You're special, darling. You need to know how special."

The way Constance spoke made Isabel nervous. Of course, saying she was special could just be brushed off as Constance being the typical parent. The kind who truly thought her child was exceptional, just as many parents believed. But Isabel could tell from Constance's tone and expression and this wasn't the case.

"To start, I have to tell you the truth about the Salem Witch Trials."

That again? Oh this was nuts! But Isabel let Constance continue.

"Now, during the trials, many women were accused and executed. None of them were real witches, though. The real witches were smart. They fled Salem and formed a coven in New Orleans."

"That's crazy," Isabel interrupted. "That couldn't have happened; witches aren't real."

"You will do well to hush up," Constance scolded. Her expression softened then and she returned to gently caressing Isabel's cheek. "Just listen and I promise it'll all make sense." So, she continued, "In the coven there is a Supreme. A head witch, as it were. An exceptional witch who usually can perform the Seven Wonders. As is the case: Supremes rise and fall. Eventually, one Supreme who came into power was a young woman named Mimi Delongpre. She was a fantastic witch… and also a distant cousin of mine."

Isabel couldn't believe that; didn't want to believe it. What Constance was telling her could not possibly be true! Witches did not exist. Magic wasn't real. Covens weren't a thing. Constance was probably just delusional from the tragedy.

Constance realized that she wasn't making any sense to Isabel. But the girl had to know. "Now, I'm not saying you're a witch, but there is a very good chance that there is magic flowing through―"

"You're clairvoyant, aren't you?"

It made sense. Isabel didn't like that thought. But it made sense. It all made sense. The little things that Constance did. It wasn't always. However there were instances when she would interfere as if she knew something would happen.

Slowly, Constance nodded.

"This is insane," Isabel muttered. She shouldn't believe those words. Witches. Were. Not. Real!

"I know that it seems that way." Constance thought the same thing when she first learned of her magical ability. It was weak now. Oh but when she had been younger, she had been powerful. Constance always knew she had been destined for great things. Just not being the next Supreme. "But it's as I said: you very well might not have powers. Not everyone in a family gets magical abilities…" Constance trailed off for a moment.

This was not a glorious thing for her to be revealing to Isabel. Clearly, Isabel was upset by all of this and didn't know how to handle the news.

"But if you do have powers, Isabel, it's important you learn how to control them," Constance warned. "It can be very dangerous if you don't."

Abruptly, Isabel stood up from the couch. "I can't do this." This was too much. Adelaide was dead. Her half-sister was dead. She should be focusing on that, not this crazy talk of her possibly being a… a witch! "I'm sorry about Addie, Ms. Langdon. And I wish there was something I could do. But this is just too much."

And with that, the sixteen-year-old walked out of the Langdon home. She marched right through her own front door and went upstairs.

Once in her room, she got under the covers, pulling them up over her head.

There came a knock at her door. It was Derek.

"Iz, you okay?" he asked through the door. He didn't dare open it and walk in on her. He knew his daughter well enough to never walk into her room without permission.

"No," came Isabel's muffled reply. She really wasn't okay. Constance was her mother. Adelaide was her half-sister who was dead. Tate was her half-brother who was dead. And she might be a witch? No, that part couldn't be true. Except it was.

Isabel was confusing herself. She believed Constance was a clairvoyant. But when it came to herself, she didn't want magic to exist. And why? Because she was scared?

Yes.

If ghosts could exist then witches could exist. If ghosts existed, she could be a witch. And Isabel didn't want that. She wanted normality. Being a witch wasn't normal.

Constance had said that she might not have powers. What were those odds? Isabel desperately wanted to know.

"Just go away Dad; I'm not in the mood to talk." Though her words weren't clear, Derek understood. He was unsure of what had happened while she was at the Langdon house. But obviously it had been something very upsetting.

Derek sighed. He wanted to help Isabel with whatever she was going through. And that meant leaving her alone until she was ready to talk.

Tate didn't have the same idea.

Isabel felt the weight on her bed shift. She poked her head out from beneath her covers and saw Tate sitting beside her.

"So what's got you down this time?" he asked. His voice was not condescending. Merely curious.

He didn't know. That thought suddenly occurred to Isabel. Tate didn't know about anything. And he needed to know. She was hesitant, of course. How could she tell someone all of this when she herself wasn't fully able to grasp her new reality?

She decided it was best to just be forward about it. No sparing the rod, just the truth.

"Tate, there's something you've got to know." Isabel paused to take a deep breath. "We're… we're related… we're siblings… Tate, you're my brother."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Tate seemed to be dumbfounded. His sister? But… how? Wait, if Isabel was sixteen, almost seventeen… she was born the year he had died in the house. And Constance had moved out before she had begun showing any signs of pregnancy.

He was angry. How could Constance not tell him that he had another sister? And why the hell had Isabel not said anything until now? That hurt him deeply. Tate abruptly stood up from the bed and began to storm out of the room. Just as he reached the door, he vanished.

Isabel felt her eyes well up with tears. She thought Tate would be a little more accepting. Was he really that upset?

This was all too frustrating for her. Isabel took her comforter and wrapped herself in it before laying down with her head on the pillow.

And she stayed like that for hours. Those hours turned into two days. Moira brought food to her but Isabel barely ate it. She only got up to go the bathroom. She didn't go to school for those two days. Isabel expected Derek to come up and firmly tell her to get her ass out of bed and too school.

But he didn't. Derek didn't interfere because he knew what his daughter was like. Going to school would be too much added pressure onto her. He would gladly write fake excuses for her when she went back. For now, Isabel just needed time to herself.

Moira thought differently, though. The girl needed to get out of her room!

However, Isabel had no desire to leave her bedroom. She could not bring herself to face the outside world. There was too much commotion and tragedy. Here, in her room, she was safe from the madness. True, insanity bled through the walls of the Murder House. But she could handle that. She could handle the irrational. It was the reality that currently tormented her thoughts.

"You need to eat something," said Moira as she entered the room, uninvited.

"Not hungry," Isabel replied, mumbling. And she truly wasn't. Her mind was too distracted by recent revelations to focus on the hunger she would otherwise be feeling.

Moira wouldn't hear of it. "You still need to eat. Come down for dinner."

"No."

Isabel spoke firmly; she was insistent. But so was Moira. Just in a different manner. The maid walked over to the bed, taking a gentler approach.

Moira took Isabel's hand and held it. While the action and touch was motherly, it felt different to Isabel. It was actually comforting.

"You're going through a lot right now," Moira stated knowingly. "I'm sure a lot more than I realize. But you cannot let this consume you. You'll end up like Nora."

Well she certainly didn't want that to happen. Was that enough to convince Isabel to shake this off? Not really.

"I'm overwhelmed, Moira. Constance is my mother, Addie's dead–"

"Adelaide died?" Moira was shocked to hear this.

Isabel nodded a few times. "Yeah… my half-sister… Christ." It was heartbreaking and talking about it was not helping her get over it. "Now Tate probably won't talk to me ever again."

"Now I know that isn't true," Moira assured Isabel. "He's more upset with his mother than you. He'll come around." Moira knew that to be a fact. She had become quite familiar with Tate's behavioral habits, just as she had picked up on everyone else's over the years.

The older woman, still holding Isabel's hand, guided the girl out of bed. "Now come on. Dinner's waiting and afterwards you're going to help me make cupcakes."

The word "cupcakes" instantly reminded Isabel of the night that the intruders broke into the house while she had been over at Constance's, baking. "I'd rather not… maybe muffins instead." Practically the same thing but enough of a difference for Isabel.

"If that's what you would like."

"''"""""'""""""'

Tate sat on the basement floor. He was absolutely pissed off. How dare his mother keep such a secret! How dare Isabel not tell him sooner!

He wasn't as mad at Isabel though. It was probably a lot for her to take in. He remembered her telling him some time ago that she didn't know who her mother was and now she knew. So Isabel must have found out not that long ago.

So really, all of this frustration was Constance's fault. Typical. His mother just didn't know how to do things right!

And there was still the matter of Addie. Tate didn't know of his sister's death. And Constance had no intention of telling him. If he were to find out, surely he'd go utterly insane with rage and heartbreak. Perhaps she wasn't the best mother. But Constance liked to think that she had her children's best interest in mind whenever she did something.

Tate would strongly disagree with that. Undoubtedly Isabel would too at this moment in time.

He could hear music play from upstairs. It wasn't an Elsa Mars song, which meant that Isabel was most likely baking. At least it seemed she was feeling better than the last time he had seen her.

Tate had no completely left Isabel after their talk two days ago. She was his little sister and now that he knew that, he felt a sort of responsibility to protect her or at least to check up on her. Which he had done. Invisible to the living, Tate had appeared in her room a few times to find her either reading or sleeping.

That had not helped his own anger. Tate was convinced that this was solely his mother's fault. That damn woman just couldn't get anything right. Constance had kept the secret. Constance hadn't said anything until now. Constance had caused this discord.

Tears of grievance blurred his vision as he stared down at the floor. And suddenly, a shadow fell over him. Looking up, Tate saw Nora standing beside him.

Nora smiled warmly down at Tate. "You shouldn't be crying," she said to him softly, kneeling down so that they were eye-level. "Life's too short for so much sorrow."


	18. Chapter Seventeen

The day had finally arrived. Derek felt a mix of mirth and chest pains.

It was Isabel's seventeenth birthday.

He loved his daughter dearly and knew that this just brought him one step closer to losing her. Soon she'd be off to college and then buying her own house and raising her own family…

Whoa, he needed to slow down. It wasn't as if she was moving out that night. He had some more time with her.

Constance didn't though, and that was upsetting. She just got her daughter back, but Isabel hardly wanted anything to do with her. It hurt her heart, nearly breaking it in two.

Isabel was her remaining child. Beau and Tate were trapped in the house. Addie was gone. Constance needed Isabel. Yet Isabel didn't seem to understand that.

Was Constance being unreasonable? She didn't think so. Yet there wasn't much she could do to get what she wanted. Well, maybe there was one thing…?

Constance walked over to the bookshelf that rested in the corner of the living room. From the top shelf she pulled out a book with an unmarked black cover.

Isabel needed to fully realize who she was. And this book was bound to help.

"''""""'""""

This wasn't going to be like Halloween and that was a relief to Isabel. This wasn't going to be some big party with a bunch of people from school that she didn't know the names of. No Leah either. Isabel supposed they were sort of friends. But she was glad that her birthday was not going to be dictated by Leah.

And of course, she insisted on baking her own cake, though Moira managed to convince Isabel to let her decorate it.

"It's your birthday," Moira had said. "You shouldn't have to do all the work. Besides, think of it as my gift to you." Since she couldn't very well go out and buy something.

Isabel decided on a marble cake with chocolate and strawberry flavors rather than the typical chocolate and vanilla mix. As she placed the pan into the oven, she felt eyes on her. One of the ghosts undoubtedly. Without turning around, she asked, "So which one of you is it?"

"Me," said Tate.

Quickly, Isabel turned to face him. Her big brother. She offered him a weak smile and he walked further into the kitchen, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. He stopped when he was standing directly in front of her. There wasn't that much of a height difference, he noted. Isabel was only a few inches shorter.

"Are you still mad?" Isabel asked quietly.

Tate shrugged halfheartedly. "Kinda. Mostly at Constance." And could he really be blamed? Pretty much everything was her fault, after all.

"You gonna forgive her ever?" Isabel asked as she set the timer for the cake.

He shook his head. "That cocksucker doesn't deserve my forgiveness."

"Tate!" Isabel exclaimed in surprise. She wasn't all too fond of Constance at the moment either but she could not believe what her brother had just called their mother.

"Iz?" Derek disrupted, walking into the kitchen. Tate vanished before he could be seen. "Who are you talking to?" He could have sworn he heard Isabel talking with someone in here. A boy judging by the voice he had heard.

But there looked to be no one but Isabel in sight. And she replied, "No one, Dad."

Maybe his mind had just played a trick on him. Too much spent locked up in his office, writing. Derek shook his head. "Anyway, a gift from Nancy just got delivered. Wanna open it now?"

It wasn't unusual for Isabel to receive a gift from her father's agent. Nancy always tried being nice to Isabel. For Derek's sake, of course.

"Sure," Isabel answered, following Derek out of the kitchen.

The package was rather large and Isabel had no idea what Nancy could have sent her. After opening the cardboard box, Isabel pulled out a black guitar case with an acoustic guitar inside.

"Oh… wow." Isabel was torn on her reaction. On one hand, she was thinking  _Holy shit, a guitar!_  On the other, she was feeling more of  _Oh… a guitar?_

Derek gave an impressed whistle. "Well that's pretty awesome, isn't it? You've always wanted a guitar."

Actually, Isabel had not wanted a guitar since she was ten. But still, it was pretty awesome of Nancy to get her such a gift. "Yeah, it's cool," Isabel agreed.

"''"""'""'""""'"

Later that night, Isabel sat on her bed. A plate of half eaten cake rested beside her. It was her third slice. The frosting job had been so beautiful; Isabel had been very impressed with Moira's work.

Isabel had the acoustic guitar in her hands and was absentmindedly strumming. She didn't know any chords so whenever she strummed, an ugly sound resonated throughout her bedroom. Tate appeared by the closet, cringing at the latest sound she created.

"Christ you're terrible."

"I know." Isabel could not argue with that statement as it was utterly true. She set aside the instrument with a sigh. "It was a birthday present from Dad's agent. But I have no idea how to play."

"Yeah, that was obvious," Tate taunted. He sat on her bed with her, stealing a bite of her cake. Isabel made no remark on it. As he chewed the chocolate and strawberry marble cake, he picked up the guitar. "Alright, because I'm a nice person I'm gonna bestow my guitar wisdom on you and teach you the only song I know how to play."

Isabel laughed. "I'm honored. And what is this song you speak of oh wise one?" she teased.

"Nirvana's 'Come As You Are.' Great tune. So here's how you start…"

It took hours. The two of them were up to well past one in the morning but Isabel was determined and finally,  _finally_ , she played the song completely through with no mistakes. It had taken so long and her fingers ached, but she did it.

"Yes!" she said triumphantly and Tate gave her a high-five while saying "nice job."

And he meant it. Now that the drama had died down a little, he found that he was actually happy to see Isabel as his little sister even though she was now older than him. Tate gave a sincere smile. "Hey Izzy?"

"Yeah?" She looked up from the guitar and saw the smile that Tate wore.

"Happy Birthday."


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Isabel stood in front of her mirror and smoothed out her blue floral patterned dress. In the reflection of the mirror, Isabel saw the ghost of Nora approach her from behind.

"Oh you look lovely. That dress is much too short, of course, but the pattern and colors are very nice," the dead woman remarked. "Are you here to see my husband? Do you have an appointment?"

Poor Nora. She did have her moments of sense. But for the most part, Isabel had come to realize, she had no idea of her whereabouts, nor of what was really going on.

"Leave her alone, Nora," Chad insisted. Nora gave a displeased look but did as he said. Chad then looked over Isabel with a critical eye. "And why are you all fancied up?"

"Dad's agent is coming by. We're going out to dinner," Isabel answered. She then gave a little laugh. "It's so weird. It's November but the weather's warm enough for me to wear this. In Massachusetts, I would be bundled up with two sweaters by now."

And though it had been chilly in Massachusetts during this time of year, Isabel hadn't really minded. She was more accustomed to that sort of weather on the east coast than the west.

Isabel turned away from the mirror to face Chad. She held up her arm, the one with the bite mark. "Think you can fix me up?"

It had healed a little more now, but wasn't completely gone and most likely wouldn't completely heal for another few weeks. The bite hadn't been deep according to Patrick. But it had been deep enough.

With an exasperated sigh, Chad took he arm and began his makeup miracle work.

""''"""""""'

The house was empty, just like Constance had hoped. The time had been perfect. Still, she remained as quiet as she could manage, sneaking through the basement. Though the Nobles were not home, the house was never unoccupied.

In her hand, Constance held the book. She could not give it to Isabel directly. The girl would never accept it. No, this book needed to come into her possession anonymously.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" Moira asked from behind Constance. She gave a small smirk of satisfaction when Constance had whirled around in surprise.

Constance scowled at Moira. "Nothing that concerns you."

"I beg to differ."

"My daughter does not concern you."

"Again, I beg to differ," Moira repeated. She stared her murderer down. "The past couple of days the poor things had been in a horrible state. And it's all because of you. It was as if she had lost her sense of identity."

"Which is exactly why I've come." Constance held up the black bound book. "To restore her identity."

The smile she wore was unsettling to Moira. Just what in the hell was Constance up to? The book Constance held up was unfamiliar to the maid and looked aged. "And just how is that book going to help?" The bitterness was not absent from her voice despite the attendance of curiosity.

It pleased Constance to have this upper hand; to know something Moira didn't.

"By showing Isabel exactly who she is."

"""'"""""""

As soon as Isabel and Derek got home, she rushed up to her bedroom to change out of her dress.

"So how was dinner with your dad and his girlfriend?" Chad asked, sitting on her bed.

Isabel rolled her eyes. "His agent, not his girlfriend." She turned her back to him and brought her long brown hair over her shoulder as a way of telling Chad to unzip her dress.

"Same thing," said Chad as he stood and unzipped her. On instinct, he closed his eyes as Isabel shimmied out of the garment. "So are you going to answer me?"

The now seventeen-year-old slipped on a pair of skinny jeans and plain pink crop top. "It was fine. A little boring. Dad and Nancy kept a lot of the conversation between themselves." She paused a moment, realizing that those words did make it seem like Nancy and her father were dating. "Oh shut up," Isabel said when she saw Chad's smug smirk. "They are  _not_ dating."

"Whatever you say, Princess," Chad teased, giving her hair a tousle, earning him a glare that he couldn't take seriously and had to chuckle at.

Annoyed, Isabel punched his arm though it was clear that she held back complete force. "Whatever; I'm going to find Tate," she mumbled, picking up her new guitar and leaving her room. Isabel heard Chad still chuckling but knew it was all in good fun for him. Chad had a sense of humor. It just wasn't the same as everyone else's.

The basement was dark as usual. Isabel turned on the light but it didn't help ease the creepiness; it never did.

"Tate?" she called out. But the figure she saw was not Tate. A stranger stood in front of a worktable with his back to her. There was a sound that made it clear he was inhaling deeply.

"Did my wife send you to me? Do you have an appointment?" He turned slightly so Isabel was able to see part of his face.

Charles Montgomery.

Not wanting to get involved with whatever might happen if she stuck around, Isabel wandered away from Charles and once again called for Tate.

She felt uncomfortable being in the basement without him. The last time she hadn't been by his side down there was when she had been attacked by Thaddeus. Isabel would rather sell her soul than have a repeat of that event.

She found Tate in one of the rooms of the basement. He was seated on the floor, a book opened in front of him.

"Hey Tate," Isabel greeted. She sat on the floor and strummed an E-minor chord, just as Tate had taught her. His attention was focused on the book though. "What are you reading?" Isabel asked as she read a few lines of the book over his shoulder and she noticed that it was in another language; she couldn't understand any of the words. "Is that Italian?"

"Latin, I think," Tate answered. "Don't know what it says…" He closed the book and handed it to her. "You should know, though. It's your book."

Isabel gave a quizzical look. "Uh… no it's not."

"Yeah it is," Tate insisted. He went to the inside of the front cover and handed the book over to Isabel. "See? There's your name right there. 'This Book Belongs To: Isabel,'" he read out loud.

He was right. There it was in black and white. This book belonged to her.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

In one hand, a lit cigarette. In the other, a glass of scotch. Constance took a sip of the drink before taking a drag from the cigarette. Her eyes were glazed over as the alcohol had started taking over her mind. She set down her drink and picked up a paint brush.

Travis came into the kitchen to find Constance sitting in front of a canvas, working on one of her paintings. She was a wonderful artist. But her paintings were always so dark and grim; on the verge of disturbing.

He picked up the nearly empty bottle of scotch that rested on the kitchen table. "Nice," he remarked dryly, setting it down. "And let me guess: that's the last cigarette." He was jonesing for a smoke; had been all day because of his nerve wrecking audition.

Constance shot him a glare. "My daughter is dead; I think I have a right to the last cigarette," she replied bitterly. That wasn't her only reason for being upset though.

She kept thinking back to the book. The book she had left for her living daughter. It could help her. It could help Isabel see who she truly might be. And if Isabel wasn't a witch then no harm, no foul.

Except if it did work, it could be dangerous. She might get hurt. And if she got scared then who would she run to? Hopefully the person with all of the answers. Which was mother dearest of course. Momma would protect her.

That was assuming all went according to plan. And Constance began having a few doubts.

Travis sighed and stood behind Constance, placing his hands gently on her shoulders. "I know you're still upset. Addie was a cool chick."

He was trying to be comforting but it wasn't a good enough attempt for Constance. She pushed Travis away and picked up her drink again. Travis huffed in frustration. He was trying to make her feel better! But she was not letting him be the boyfriend he wanted to be. Sometimes he felt like nothing more than a sex toy.

"I can't keep doing this Constance. I can't keep letting you push me away. I try and do what I can but I'm not appreciated around here."

Constance scoffed. "Oh is that so? And what about my efforts? The money I paid for your headshots. The money I use to keep food on the table for the both of us. Is that appreciated?"

Of course she managed to find a way to make this about herself. Travis hated her when she was drunk. She was so mean; said things that were downright heartless. "Learn to control yourself for Christ's sake!"

It sounded like a threat and that made Constance give a humorlessly laugh. "Or you'll do what?"

"Leave you."

"'''"""'"""'"

The book rested on the bureau next to the record player. Forgotten. Meant to be dealt with for another time. Not on Isabel's mind.

What was on her mind was the pain in her fingers. "Okay, I think I'm done practicing for today," she said, setting aside her guitar. "My fingers are killing me."

"You need to build up calluses," said Tate, shaking his head. "But you're getting better at the song."

This was actually fun for Tate. He was spending time with his little sister… who was now a year older than him. That didn't bother him. As a ghost, time didn't really exist to him. Age was nothing anymore. Only a concept to the living.

Isabel beamed in pride. "Good thing it isn't that hard." Tate couldn't teach her any crazy fingering of the strings, only which chords to strum. A lot of E-minor chords, a lot of D chords; Isabel could handle it.

Looking at the clock, Isabel saw that it was now midnight. "I should get to sleep." She stood to go over to her bureau and take out a pair of pajamas. Before she did though, Tate stood up from her bed as well and hugged his little sister, telling her goodnight before vanishing.

And Isabel was alone. Though ghosts roamed the halls; she never really was completely alone. She was happy that she and Tate seemed to be having a good brother/sister relationship.

But what of Constance?

Did Isabel want to bother trying to mend the bridge that burned between them?

Not particularly.

As Isabel pulled out a loose fitting t-shirt from her drawer, her attention was drawn back to the book. The mysterious book that had her name inscribed on the inside cover. But she had never seen this book before in her life. And her name wasn't written in her handwriting.

Strange.

She dropped the t-shirt she was holding and picked up the book instead. Isabel brought it back to her bed, where she sat down.

The book fell open to page that was dog eared and a small paragraph was circled. Frowning, Isabel studied the spell for a few moments. She had no idea what any of the words meant or what any of pronunciations were. So Isabel took out her smart phone and pulled up Google translate.

She typed in the spell and pressed the "listen" button and the Latin words were said aloud for her. As she listened to how the words were meant to be said, she read the translation:

_Lead me in the darkness, under the leadership of the Spirit of life is in me to salute to the other end of hell. Descent!_

Was it some sort of short poem in Latin? Isabel listened to the pronunciation again and this time repeated what was said.

" _Spiritu duce in me est deduc me in tenebris vita ad extremum ut salutaret 'nferi. Descensum!"_

Everything went black.


	21. Chapter Twenty

He had heard a loud thud from upstairs. Curious and a little worried, Tate made his way upstairs to Isabel's room. Out of consideration, he knocked a few times. "Izzy, are you in there?"

No response.

He assumed that she was asleep. Yet the unsettling feeling that had formed in the pit of his stomach told him otherwise. The feeling made him almost frantic. He could sense that something was wrong and Isabel's lack of response did nothing to ease his worry. So Tate took it upon himself to open the door and walk in.

There was Isabel laying on the ground in a position that suggested she had collapsed. Beside her was that mysterious black book he had found with her name in it.

"Izzy!" Tate exclaimed in a panic as he rushed to his sister's side.

Downstairs, Derek, having heard the shouting of his daughter's name by an unfamiliar voice, left his study. He went upstairs with his brow furrowed.

Seeing that Isabel's bedroom was opened, he entered and saw Tate kneeling beside Isabel's limp body in the middle of the bedroom floor.

"What the hell is going on?" Derek demanded. He shoved Tate away from Isabel. "What the hell did you do to my daughter?!"

Without waiting for answer, he began to shake Isabel's shoulders. "Iz, wake up! C'mon you've gotta get up! Isabel!" But his shaking and shouting did nothing to wake her and Derek began to fear the worst. He looked to Tate, anger flaring in his eyes. "What the fuck did you do to her you little prick?"

Tate couldn't respond, paralyzed with a certain fear he had not felt in a long time. He didn't care that Derek was yelling at him. His sister was unresponsive. That was what was worrying him. But she didn't seem to be anywhere in the house as a ghost, which meant she wasn't dead, right?

Suddenly, Derek grabbed Tate by his shirt and pulled him close. "You hurt her, you sonofabitch!"

"Derek," Moira said firmly from the doorway. It had been the first time she addressed the man by his first name. His attention had been grabbed. As he looked to her, for a moment he could have sworn he saw a young woman with red hair that seemed like a young version of Moira. But the image was gone in a split second. "Tate did nothing," she continued.

Moira walked further into the room and picked up the black book that lay on the floor next to Isabel.

"You know this little shit?" Derek sounded incredulous as he glanced to Tate.

The maid simply ignored him and flipped through the pages of the book. None of the words were actually recognizable. What was recognizable was the book itself; it was the one Constance had brought by earlier. "We need Constance," said Moira. Those were words she never thought she would ever utter.

"''"""'"""'"""

Her hair wasn't pinned up like it usually was. Red rimmed her eyes. She was dying for a cigarette. But Constance walked with her head held high anyways as she was led upstairs into Isabel's room. She had her classic air of confidence.

And then she saw her daughter laying on the ground as if she was dead, and the confidence relinquished her. Yet her lips formed a small smile that seemed to radiate with pride.

"She actually did it," Constance whispered. Her emotions were a mix of sadness, regret, and happiness. Her daughter was a witch, just as she had expected. Her daughter had power.

Derek didn't understand her words and in such a situation, that was frustrating to the novelist. "What did she do, Constance? What happened to my daughter?"

Moira handed Constance the black book, which the woman took without thanks. "Moira, chamomile tea," she ordered.

The maid left to make the tea, leaving Constance alone with Derek, just what she wanted.

Tate had disappeared feeling quite sure he wouldn't be able to face his mother without wrapping his hands around her throat and choking her to death.

"There's something you ought to know, Derek," Constance began now that it was just the two of them. " _My_  daughter is a witch. And a damn good one at that."

That made even less sense to Derek than what was going on. He expressed that and Constance happily told him the story that he should have heard before now. Constance explained the family relationship to the Delongpres and how Mimi Delongpre had been the Supreme of a Coven in New Orleans.

She told him about witches and how they escaped Salem. How so few descendants were left and how Isabel was one of them. How Isabel was performing Descensum.

This all sounded so insane to Derek. Magic wasn't real. Constance couldn't possibly be telling the truth. It just didn't make sense.

"You don't believe," Constance stated after reading Derek's expression when her story was done. She sighed quietly. She should have expected that. "And what can I do to make you believe?"

Derek's hands clenched into fists. Now he was getting angry. "Isabel is missing and you're going on about some insane bullshit about witches! I don't want crazy stories. I need to help Iz!"

Constance shook her head, laughing mirthlessly. "How can you be so blind to think that just because you've never witnessed something means it doesn't it exist? Take the damn house for example. Surrounded by the dead for weeks now yet you ignored that because you've never seen a real ghost before!"

"W-what?" Derek was even more confused now. First witches and now ghosts. "The hell are you talking about? Are you saying this house is haunted?"

"More than that. It's cursed."

Cursed… Derek shook his head. He didn't believe a word of this. How could he when it didn't make any sense?

Constance needed to show him; needed him to see that she spoke the truth. If he saw that she was being truthful about the ghosts, then he was bound to believe her about Isabel being a witch.

"Chad," she called out.

Out from behind her, from thin air, stepped Chad. "You rang?" He looked Derek over with a critical eye. "So you're Daddy Dearest. Need some convincing about the house? My name's Chad Warwick and I died in this house last year. Nice to meet you."

""'""""'"""

Ghosts. A hell of a lot of ghosts. Nora and Charles Montgomery, Maria and Gladys, even Moira was a ghost (that revelation had sent a chill down Derek's spine). He had met the dead. Constance had been right. There were ghosts. So did that mean there were witches?

Derek sat on the couch with a cup of chamomile tea in his hands that Moira had made. He was visibly jittery now. Ghosts… he had been surrounded by ghosts for weeks and never realized it.

"So," he began uneasily and had to restart. "So… what do we do about Isabel? How do we get her back?"

"We can't," Constance answered as she sipped her own tea. "She needs to come back herself if she can."

And that was a big if.

Descensum was difficult to perform and very dangerous. If Isabel did not return by sunup, she would die. That was why Constance had felt so awful about this. But there was a slim chance of Isabel coming home and even with that tiny chance, it was big enough for Constance to be willing to take this risk.

The mother sighed softly, staring absently into her teacup. "Nothing we can do but wait."


	22. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I really appreciate it!

Isabel sat on her bed. There was a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a mug of hot chocolate with cinnamon clutched tightly in her hands. She was shaking faintly, staring off into space.

There came a knock on her door and Constance walked in. She took a moment to stare at her daughter. The sun had risen fifty-nine minutes ago. Isabel had woken up fifty-eight minutes ago. She walked up to the bed and sat down on the edge of it. She reached out to touch Isabel's arm, and Isabel jerked her arm away, causing a bit of hot chocolate to slosh over the side of the mug and splash onto the bed.

Constance sighed. "Oh darling, you can't stay mad at me forever."

These words caused Isabel to snap her gaze to her mother. "Are you fucking kidding me? Your actions nearly killed me and all you can say is that I can't be mad at you forever?" She slammed the mug of hot chocolate down on the bedside table. "You sent me to Hell! Don't think I can be mad at you forever? Watch me."

Okay, so Constance didn't directly send her to Hell. Isabel knew that. She had been the one to say the spell. But the book that contained the spell had belonged to Constance, who gave it to her. Constance knew she would say the spell. Constance knew the risk.

Isabel walked out of her room at a brisk pace, going downstairs and passing her father on the way, who made sure to give her room on the stairs. He watched her storm away before continuing up the stairs. He entered Isabel's room, finding Constance on the bed.

She was holding a cigarette between her teeth, lighting the end of it. Constance looked over to the man who raised her daughter. "Let me guess: you're angry with me too."

"Well you aren't exactly Mother of the Year," Derek retorted. There was a long pause before he continued, "But I also have to thank you. I never would have known about Iz's… Iz's powers. Only thing now is I don't know what to do with her."

Constance blew out a stream of smoke. "There's a school in New Orleans for witches. It goes by the name Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. She'll learn how to safely control her powers there."

A boarding school for witches? Derek scoffed quietly, shaking his head. "Iz is not going to like that," he said knowingly.

"She's not going to have a choice."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I wrote this years ago on ff.net and finally decided to post it here to bring here! I will admit, it's a little amateurish (I've grown so much as a writer since creating this) but it's one of the few works that I'm actually proud of.


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